


Double-Edged

by tori1116



Category: Batman & Robin (2009), Batman (Comics), Batman: Battle for the Cowl, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anger, Basically Everyone Here Could Use Some Therapy, Battle For The Cowl - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, Codependency, Complicated Father-Son like Relationship, Controversial Character being Controversial, Drinking Problem, Emotional Scars from Childhood, Hint of Batman Incorporated, Identity Issues, Jason Has the Old Red Hood look for Most of the Story, Jason is The Cheeky Fun-Cracking One with The Mouth, Jason is a Tough Nut to Crack, Language, Loads of Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Moral Differences, N52 Reference and Whatever that Comes to Mind, No Underage Sex but there's mention of Child Prostitution, Not a Love Story, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD (on Roy's part), Pre-New 52 Jason, Pre52 Reference, Roy is The Gritty Serious One, Self-Reflection, Sharing a Bed, Some Fluff, Sorry Not Sorry, Teenager Roy, Things Get Dark at Times, Underage Drinking, Underage Kissing, Underage Smoking, Vigilante Killing, Young Justice - Freeform, and He Has Red Hair at One Point, at least that how they're on appearance, but He has a Heart and a Soft Spot called Roy Harper, but Just a Story of Dysfunctional People Who Have Issues, but They turn Brighter in The End, he Isn't Invulnerable, personal struggles, so no, which is All DC's not Mine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2018-11-18 04:51:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 144,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11284080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tori1116/pseuds/tori1116
Summary: In a universe that is similar to the Pre52 New Earth, Roy Harper was abducted by The Light at the age of 15 and a clone of his was made, but unlike what happened in the Young Justice, the truth isn't discovered until years later; meanwhile, since Dick has taken the mantel after the event of Battle for the Cowl, Jason has given up the Bat armor and returned into the Red Hood persona once again. Thanks for Luthor and Black Mask, the two are brought together, and seeing how Dick has his own Robin,  Jason, who still considers himself to be the Batman that Gotham requires the most, has figured it'd be a good idea if he could have a well-trained, troubled teenager who has just lost his life to be the Robin for his Batman too.What could possibly go wrong.Or, the long, agonizing journey from Jason Todd the good guy who makes a convincing bad guy to Jason Todd the good guy who can hardly convince anyone he's a bad guy. Also, the  long, agonizing journey from Speedy the boy who has issues to Arsenal the young man who owns his issues.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's said that Robin is the light that keeps Batman from losing his way in the darkness; though Jason is not exactly Batman, and Roy is definitely not Robin, but according to Jason himself, that's basically what Roy Harper to him.
> 
> #Pre52 characterization on Jason's part.
> 
> #YJU characterization on Original!Roy's part, with Pre52 origin, but there're also some N52 elements fused in it, so I guess it's actually the Rebirth reconstruction? (Except without the Brave Bow being dead thing, because it seems a bit overkill to me and I'm just not feeling it)
> 
> FYI, Bruce is only as dead as he has been in canon.

What the hell? He squinted his eyes suspiciously, adjusting the binocular to get a clearer sight.

There’s a surprise he hadn’t expected to see. From what he had heard from the police channel he had tapped in, no doubt that the girl scouts of Barbara's were quite busy with all the robberies and assaults in midtown as always, and as far as he knew, the dynamic duo were still absorbed themselves with the murder case they had taken a few days ago.

No one was supposed to be on this, except him.

The shipment moved in just couple days ago, and whoever rented this warehouse was careful enough to keep things in secret; a secret no one would know unless you know where to pry, and you pried it really hard.

It’s right what they said, that criminals were a cowardly lot. Sometimes they would even beg to tell you shit without you asking, if they were scared enough, if you had made it clear that you wasn’t fooling around like some other funny guys, they would be willing to trade any sorts of information for their own pathetic life.

Not that he had actually done much, when he had hunted those robbers down in their hideout.

All of those guys had quite a rat sheet, but no murder charges; the bag of loot was enough to hold them for years, and although it wasn’t a bad idea to just gun them down and save some tax money, the scums were way too easy to handle, he hadn’t gotten to draw his gun before he disabled them, and he wasn’t some crazy who would executed someone who wasn’t worth a good execution in style.

One of the school boys and girls could’ve taken care of them, that’s for sure. Considered how he had decided to lay a low profile for now, seeing how the last confrontation with Grayson didn’t went the way that was in his favor, Jason wouldn’t bother himself with some small robbers if he hadn’t wanted to catch a big fish.

Someone had been making their move on the street, despite how they had hidden in the shadow, there’s still some whisper here and there.

That’s the advantage of live outside the society, you had all the time to listen from the dirty corner that the nice guys were way too classy to dwell in.

He wasn’t sure what he should be looking, but someone was bound to know something. There’s no real track for him to trace, all he had was some chirp from a fat birdie.

Though he couldn’t ruled out the chances of Ozzy just getting paranoid or maybe just wanted to throw him a bone to get him off his tail, he was willing to bet that the fat short and ugly had known him well enough, he would’ve thought better than to send him onto a wild goose chase, and just because the fat guy was paranoid didn’t mean no one was actually trying to move in and planning to take over his turf by pulling a big play.

If there really was something that worth hunting, he wouldn’t want to spook his prey before he got it exactly where he wanted it, which meant he couldn’t just run around and asking question like a detective.

Some people were born a detective and some people were born a strike force, he wasn’t the former. So he ran down some scums who had a reason to earn themselves a visit, made it all about the recent shit they pulled instead of the real information he was hoping to get.

It didn’t seem to be going anywhere, until he had met his luck with the robbers.

“This is really frustrating, you know,” he had said while holding a tight grip on one of those guys; the most unlikely one to have a big mouth, the most tough looking one also, which had made it better, because he could put on a show by cracking the guy physically, which could always do wonder to the mental state of the others.

“I keep asking myself ‘why am I doing this’,” the guy had been struggling at first, he had raised his knee and yanked the guy down into it. The guy had coughed and tried hard to catch his breath. He didn’t give him a second to breath.

He hadn’t stopped chatting with the others, “Think about how much big shot I could’ve had fun with, instead of spending time with you little fish. Time is precious, I tell you, none of us could know which day is the day we die, and I could say from experience that day would come way sooner than you think.”

Grabbing the guy by his hair, Jason had held his head in just the right angle while he gave him the punch. A bloody tooth had been knocked out of his mouth, and flying to the face of one of his pals, hitting the face like a bullet.

The guy he had been holding had gone limp, almost unconscious. He had loosened his grip but didn’t let go of him until his arms had been dismantled.

Instantly, the guy had awoken and let out a high pitch scream, good things the hideout they had used wasn’t anywhere near public.

“I would happily trade you guys for some real badies any day,” he had been saying, while the guy was hyperventilating. He had tossed the guy away and gone for another one; the one who had caught a tooth on his face.

“Hell, I’d even walked out of here right now if I got some bigger fish to fry, but where the hell are all of those real plays when you want one?”

“Wait wait wait,” the guy had yelled, looked exactly as terrified as he would like them to be, and more than ready to spill whatever he thought that could distract him to somewhere else.

Some security job that the guy had been offered a couple days ago, no explicit detail except it was in the dock and it pays well. The one who recruited the guy was an old pal of him, he didn’t say much just told the guy that if he take the job, he would be working for a big shot. The way he talked made it sounded like someone was preparing themselves for a war.

He had told Jason as much as he knew, which really wasn’t much, but the secrecy and the vague detail sounded right to him, so he had started the investigation from the dock.

Then here he was, outside the warehouse that he knew he would find something inside.

The place didn’t seem much by the look of it, nothing but a couple of guards on sight. He wasn’t going to make his move before he knew more about the security detail, he was quick on the draw, sure, but he wasn’t stupid and definitely not suicidal.

He was just checking out the place from a higher ground when he caught the glimpse of red.

Someone small was sneaking up on one of those big thugs outside, taking the thug out before he could make a squeak and moved to another before the man could come to notice.

It was a teenager, Jason realized, once he had taken a closer look through the binocular. An unfamiliar one who was wearing an unfamiliar costume, something bright red with a bit yellow, which wasn’t common in this city.

A kid with carroty hair that had been shaved in a military style, seemed to be around the same age when Jason had first started out, fifteen or sixteen, Jason couldn’t say for sure. Though he didn’t appear to be new to the business; kid was good, definitely well trained.

He hadn’t even noticed at first, since the kid was moving swiftly with ease, but there’s something missing on him. An arm, Jason took a closer look at his right side, and found only a small residue of forelimb below the right shoulder.

A one-arm kid soldier who wandered alone, what was he doing? Where was his superior? The curiosity was rising up.

As far as he knew, Bruce hadn’t been taken more kids into his one man mission before he allegedly die, and he doubted Dick would’ve taken anyone in, since he had already been changing Damian’s diaper.

“Where did you come from, little Red,” he muttered to himself intriguingly, while he was watching the kid moved.

None of those thugs seemed to be dead; the kid took some time to tie them up and dragged them out of sight one by one, which clearly was more than just a bit of trouble, dragging those thugs who were far bigger than him with only one arm.

He went back to the front of the warehouse once he had finished. There’s a digital lock on the door, he lifted his left hand to the panel and cracked the code in no more than half a minute.

A tech nerd too? Kid came with the whole package. Jason let out a small internal whistle before he jumped down to the ground, followed the kid soundlessly into the warehouse.

There’re a lot of crates inside, he watched from the shadow as the kid pried them open.

The kid pulled out some top edge weapons from one of the crates, weighing it with his palm and inspected it for a moment before put it back down and went for something else.

Jason took a glimpse in those crates after him. Seemed like Ozzy was smart to be paranoid, there’re enough firepower here to bring everybody down including the fat guy.

Tough the high-tech weapons did seem to interest the kid, he wasn’t stopping but moving along the warehouse, clearly was on search for something in particular.

A while later, he found it, dragged a suitcase out of a crate, and laid it onto the ground.

“I think it’s already past your bedtime, kid,” Jason said nicely from behind. The kid twisted in a flash, but Jason closed in on him way faster than the kid could draw back even an inch.

He held the kid at gunpoint, tapping the tip of his nose slightly with his pistol.

Once he was getting up close, he found the teen’s face was vaguely familiar.

Jason studied him curiously, while the teen with a grumpy scowl glared at him in return.

“What are you doing here, where are your parents.”

“Dead,” the little redhead replied in a flat tone. That sounded about right, kid with those skills didn’t usually come from a warm unbroken family. Jason nodded in acknowledgement.

“Traumatic, I bet,” he remarked simply, and the kid stared at him with a blank face.

“Where’s your guardian then.”

Left hand braced on his hip, the kid disregarded Jason’s question and snorted, “Since when juvenile counseling is part of the duty of hired muscle, did your boss give you bonus for this?”

“Who says I’m a henchman, maybe I am the boss.”

“Are you the boss?” the kid retorted, swayed out his one hand in a halfhearted gesture.

The small marble exploded right behind the ground Jason was standing, the kid lowered himself and rolled out of the gunpoint, as the moment the marbles flied out of his palm and hit the ground.

The explosion wasn’t enough to do any real damage, but Jason probably would’ve caught a fire on his back if he hadn’t been watching the kid from the start.

The kid was tricky, he liked that.

He puffed out a chuckle as the moment the kid shot up in a stand and facing Jason’s previous direction which was now empty. “It isn’t polite to try to blow up people’s faces when they’re talking to you, hasn’t anybody told you that?”

“What the--” the kid spun around, ready to fight back after startled for a split second.

Most of the weapons that the little redhead was carrying on his back were long-ranged, not that he had a chance one way or the other, but it seemed to Jason that it might be easier to hold him down if the kid didn’t get the chance to pull the distance.

No doubt that the leaguer who was Bruce’s spawn was the best martial art player in the whole underage playground these days, but this one wasn’t bad at hand-to-hand combat either. He let the kid fought for a little before took a grip on him and held his left arm roughly against his back.

The kid huffed out a pained grunt and tried to break off his hold, which only brought himself more pain than it’s strictly necessary. “Relax,” Jason told him, “I’m not the bad guy--Well, not the bad guy who owns this shipment. I was just trying to figure out what’s going on here before you showed up. So why don’t you settle down and tell me who you are and what you’re doing here.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Come on, what’s with the secrecy. You’re looking for this, right?” he nudged the suitcase with a foot, “What’s in it?”

“Maybe I’ll answer one of your questions if you answer one of mine first.” The kid said with a scoff, “What’s with the goofy bucket you’re wearing? What are you, ‘The Big Red Bucket of Poor Taste’?”

“You’re really not a nice kid, aren’t you,” Jason remarked thoughtfully, right before the moment he caught the indistinct sound.

Some people were walking in, and they’re trying to hide their footsteps. He covered the kid’s mouth instantly and pulled the kid behind one of those crates.

A head knocked hard against his chest, the kid tried to struggle out for a second, but quieted down when Jason lifted a finger in front of his helmet to shush him.

Someone had come to the warehouse, found the guards outside went missing and realized something was wrong. Maybe it was just some other guards here to take the next shift, that would be required no effort to handle.

Jason stretched out, trying to get a clear view. There’re a quite an amount of thugs outside, way more than the original security. He couldn’t make an exact count from where he was hiding, but there’s definitely a shitload of them, and the guns they’re all carrying in their hands made it clear that they might be expecting some action.

“Have you triggered an alarm or something?” he asked the kid in a whisper. The kid scoffed in silence.

“What am I, an idiot? I disabled all the alarm system while I cracked the lock.”

“Then maybe you didn’t tie the thugs tight enough, they’ve struggled out and called for the reinforcement.”

“I tie like a scout,” the kid grumbled. Jason loosened his hold a little, let the kid pull up and see for himself.

“Maybe they’re just here to pick up the weapons,” the kid stated after taking a glimpse outside.

Some of the thugs scattered around and looked for the intruder, while the others were starting to move a few crates out of the warehouse, all under somebody’s instruction.

Apparently, the play Jason was looking for was coming sooner than he thought. Whoever owned this shipment was planning to make his first move tonight.

It would be better if he could come with more prepare, but seemed like this really was a night of surprise.

A thug turned behind the large crate and walked right into them, Jason let go of the kid and moved to the big guy, surged up within a second, arm looped around his neck and dragging the man down while he twisted the his head.

The kid who was still crouching behind him, scowled at Jason while the body slid off of his arm. “You killed him.”

“Oh boy, are we gonna cry for this?” Jason retorted mockingly.

Moved back next to the kid, he pulled out two guns from each of the holsters, made a quick inspection and said, “There’re a lots of bad guys out there, and I’m gonna go out and get them. Now, you could either follow my lead and perhaps I’ll get you out of here alive, or you could try to sneak out by yourself and hope by some miracle that you wouldn’t get shot into a hornet nest. What is going to be, kid?”

The kid glanced at him, left arm reached to his own back and pulled out one of the weapons he was carrying.

“Are you always talking this much?” the kid retorted, then hurled out after Jason.

Once Jason was in sight, someone in front stated, “Red Hood.”

He took a look at the man who was wearing a white three piece suit. “Black Mask,” he greeted while dodging the flying bullets and returned the shooting. Another native freak of Gotham, that’s so much for surprise.

“Which one are you? The crazy rich prick or the crazy psychiatrist?”

Black mask laughed. “I could assure you I am no Dr. Arkham.”

Crazy rich prick then. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” Jason asked abstractedly; the kid was engaging himself with a half dozen of thugs, though he didn’t seem like he needed a hand (no pun intended), no doubt he could’ve handled it with more efficiency if he just aimed his weapons to somewhere more fatal. Guessed not every kid was as homicidal as the one Grayson had inherited.

He was having some vague idea about the kid, and he wasn’t sure was it a plus or a minus.

Sionis was saying, “Death isn’t enough to stop me from reclaim this city, she is suffering these days, and I’m the one who can save her.”

The city needed to be saved, that much he could agree. But not from some crazy mob boss who only wanted to claim her for himself, rolled herself over and fucked her in anyway he wanted.

Guys like Sionis always talked about the noble cause, saved the city from the abuse of all those other scums, blah blah blah, for he was the true king who knew how to do her best, blah blah blah.

Sometimes he found it hilarious, that how much they talked alike, the good guys and the bad guys, the same self-righteousness; sometimes he wondered did any of them could hear how portentous they all sounded.

She didn’t want some kind of a king to rule her over, or a knight to save her from distress, or anything in between; all she needed was a cleaner, an efficient one, to clean up the constant mess she made of herself.

And that made him more suitable for her than anybody else. Bruce couldn’t do it. He couldn’t even see what was necessary. That little piece of knowledge used to gnawed at him when he had been wearing the sidekick costume, but he knew better now, he understood that’s just the way it was, that it wasn’t Bruce to blame, he was just born that way; a rich guy with no dirt in his noble blood who never had the chance to clean up somebody’s mess with his own two hands and lived inside the dirtiness, seeing things from above, not close up.

“I’ve always had an interest in you.” Shielding himself with a wall of personal guards, Sionis said as though he was reading his mind, “The street needs someone to make it better, to take out all the parasites, the garbage. And I could provide the resource you need to do your job.”

“What makes you think I’m for hire?”

“You’ve mistaken me, Hood. I’m not saying I want to hire you, I’m saying you and I, we may made a good team. I think you want what’s better for this city as much as I do, and I think we could help each other out.”

“Why did it sound familiar,” Jason said with a quirk of an eyebrow, though the facial expression he was making was completely lost under the hood, but the false confusion in his voice was sarcastic enough.

“Roman, buddy, are you asking me to be your partner?” he said as if he was flattered by it. He spared a glance at the kid nearby, wanted to see how he was doing. The kid rolled his eyes at him after taken out a few thugs.

“Yes,” Sionis confirmed with confidence, “You and I are the type of men this city needs.”

“You are making me blush,” Jason said coyly. “And I would be really tempted, if I was a kid, but I’m not. And let just say, the last time an old man invited me into a partnership, it didn’t went great. So I have to say no to that, it’s not you, it’s me, or it is you, actually, because you are a murderous psycho that Gotham can happily live without.”

“God help me, he really talks a lot,” the kid was muttering, and Jason was saying, “Duck,” right before he threw out a grenade over the kid’s head, and yanked the kid into cover while the small explosion taken care the rest of the goons.

The suitcase that the kid had been looking for was just a few feet away, the teen slipped out of Jason's hold and went to grab it.

“What a shame,” Sionis’s voice drew his attention away from the kid.

All there’re left was Black Mask himself and four men who were his personal securities. “Kill them,” Black Mask ordered those four guys, “and tried to keep a minimal damage here.”

One of the guys put down the fire of the explosion by shooting a nitrogen weapon, then he went to join the others who was surging at Jason with all the intent to kill.

Apparently, no one wanted to bother themselves with a teenager when there’s a big guy to play with. He glanced at the kid while blocking out the strike from someone who had league-level skill.

Holding the suitcase in one hand, the kid gave him a brief look before headed to escape. Sionis tried to stop him with a gun, but he dodged the bullet and dashed outside.

“Find him,” Black Mask said to the guy with the freeze gun, the guy turned quickly and went after the kid.

He hoped the kid could hold himself against that guy, and if he’s not, well, that wasn’t Jason’s problem; though it really wasn’t happy for him to see a kid die on his own, he had enough on his plate right now, he couldn’t worry about anyone else.

Knocked out the sword of the one who was an expert of martial art, Jason took a good aim and ready to put a bullet in him, before one of his pals who had transformed himself as a human panther launched at his back, as quick and as vicious as the animal he was.

A claw shredded the cape he was wearing and left a bloody mark on his back, Jason bit his teeth as the pain came, shrugged the panther off and braced a hand on the guy's shoulder as he flipped over his head.

He took a few shots at the panther guy but he was moving too fast. The sword guy picked up his sword and swung it at Jason, while the third one who had tons of muscles and brutal strength tried to smash him with his enormous fists.

The guy with a sword was done by his own sword eventually, Jason steered the guy’s body by the sword that thrust through his stomach, drove the dead guy into the direction of the big muscle one.

He was barely saving his arm from getting ripped off by a sharp claw, when the mob boss who stood at the door took a shot at his thigh.

No that Sionis had aimed at his thigh at all, the bullet probably would’ve gone into somewhere more serious if someone hadn’t knocked the gun aside.

“Run!”

He caught a glimpse of a grenade flying through the air before he actually heard the kid’s voice.

Landed a hard punch in the panther guy’s face to get him out of the way, Jason got around the big muscle who tried to intercept him, and rushing out of the warehouse.

Although the explosive alone wasn’t much, it seemed it had landed on the exact crate where it really shouldn’t be disturb by an explosion.

Considered how the kid had gone through all the crates before, it probably was on purpose rather than just dumb luck.

When the explosion came up, he and the kid were already in a safe distance.

He had no intention to go back and check if Sionis and his men were still alive, freaks like that were zombies, rarely would die unless someone blow up his head for sure; and if Black Mask hadn’t retreated by now, Jason wasn’t in much of a position to continue the fight, the claw mark on his back was nasty and the bullet on his thigh was limping him a little.

The kid didn’t seem any better than him, his lips were broken and his cheek was bruised, there’s a layer of frost on his suit and the way he pressed the side of his stomach with his one hand clearly suggested he had been hit pretty hard in there.

On top of that, he seemed genuinely distressed. Jason studied him once they had stopped running. The kid was shivering, breathing way too shallow and too fast.

“Are you okay?” Jason asked, “Are you having some sort of panic attack?”

“No,” the kid answered in a snarl. “Just hate getting cold.”

Jason hummed in response.

Instead of prying, he said, “I didn’t expect to see you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not just gonna leave people to die, even those who might be as bad and as crazy as those big bad crazies back there.”

“That’s a big ‘might be’,” Jason replied in a light tone, the kid snorted.

“Yeah, whatever, I’ve done my good deed for the day, and now I’m out of here.” He adjusted the suitcase that was tied on his back, before he turned away.

But Jason didn’t think so.

“I don’t think so, kid,” he told the kid genially, knocking him in the head and caught his unconscious body as he fell down.

 

***

 

He heaved his eyelids which clearly weighed a ton, someone shoved a face in front of him, looking for his attention.

For a moment he was confused, and he didn’t smell the pungent scent of chemical, the rottenness of the decay skin, instead, he smelled what he used to smell, the strong scent of alcohol heating up by anger and leaking out the pore, the odor of nicotine plunged into his nostrils by the fist that was stained with cigarette, all the rage and frustration and disgust in the hooded blue eyes, he could actually smell them too; dripping in the limited air within the small apartment, blending with the blood he could taste inside his mouth.

But the beating he took was different this time. Nothing from before was enough to tickle, compared to this.

A swung on the head and he was almost out, almost, that’s the point, there wasn’t a fragment of second he was truly unconscious, because that would surely take away the fun.

Though the beating was bad, it wasn’t about the act of beating, he had come to realize at this point, and he was having an epiphany, that maybe it never was.

Every time someone had beat the shit out of him, it wasn’t about how bad it could hurt his body; it never really hurt, came to think about it, not as much as the fact that he had gotten beaten, that he could so easily be beaten, be trashed and be knocked down into the ground, like a piece of garbage.

The one with the crowbar sung in a happy tone, “Birdie, birdie, birdie, the best Christmas present that come very jolly early!”

His vision came clearer, and he could see the chalky white face again, instead of a too familiar face of an angry lowlife.

“Did you think this is your fault that you walked right into a crowbar?” the clown was saying, “Trust uncle Joker when he says it, it isn’t your fault, honey, except, well, you did walk all the long way here by yourself. But you know, kiddies are silly, that’s why you need us grown-up around, keep you boys and girls in check.”

A careless hit in the stomach, too hard and precise for someone that swung with half a thought; he chocked on his own hitched breath and coiled up on the ground, coiled up small like a weak little thing.

“You can’t blame yourself for being stupid, robbie babe. It’s the Bat’s fault, actually. It was supposed to be _our_ private game, but he brought you little birdies in. How could us have some alone time, when the children is always around? He knew how much I love us some alone time, how intimate we could get. You children really are romance killer,” the clown sighed ruefully, before he crouched down and searched for his eyes again.

“Do you think daddy would come and find us?”

His eyes clammed shut and he tried to cough out the blood so he wouldn’t choke on it. The clown poked his broken cheekbone playfully to draw his attention. The touch was small, but it burnt him like a blaze of hell. Every cell of his mortal body was burning like hell. 

“You’re still there, baby bird?”

A second later, he turned his face and looked up at the freak.

The grin on the pasty white face was broadened to an extent it seemed like it was eating up the whole face.

“Oooh, boy. I don’t think daddy would ever come and fetch _you_ ,” the clown stated while taking a close look at him. “The old cheery one, maybe. But you--” he drawled out a long sentimental sigh.

“ _The look in your eyes_ , that’s why he’ll leave you to _die_.”

 

***

 

The knowledge that he had gotten a terrible hit in the stomach hadn’t come to the kid’s mind; he jumped up from the couch once he had regained consciousness, and hissed instantly as he stretched where it hurt.

With his own helmet and his shredded cape had been removed, Jason glanced at the teen under the domino he was still wearing. “Calm down,” he said.

But of course the kid didn’t calm down at all. “Where the hell am I, who are you, what did you do to me,” he blustered with his fist clutched.

Spun his chair around and turned away from the computer, Jason regarded him curiously. “Have you ever relaxed?”

The kid ignored him, searching himself for any sort of weapons, which Jason had already made sure he wouldn’t find any. He didn’t touch the domino though, figured the kid might have felt too naked if he woke up without it.

Although he wouldn’t call himself a decent man, he still had enough decency, he wouldn’t strip off somebody’s mask without asking. But a drop of blood on the kid’s skin, well, that’s different, that’s something he could easily take and run an identity check.

No match he could find on the public record, just as himself and any other children Bruce had taken in. There’s a good chance he might’ve found out who the kid was, if he could run the check on the Bat’s database, too bad what he had set up here wasn’t anything close to the real cave.

He wasn’t jealous, to think about what he could have if it was him instead of Dick who had inherited the cowl.

Not once that he had expected he would ever be the true heir of Bruce’s legacy. Dick could try to fill the big man’s shoes and lived under his rule for all he cared. He could be the Batman he thought the city wanted, while Jason would be the one the city truly required.

Since he couldn’t dig out some information on the computer, he guessed he had to do this the old fashion way, which was posing questions. “What’s your name, kid?”

“You don’t even know who I am and you kidnapped me into this…what is this place?”

“A cave.”

“What do you mean a cave, it’s an underground tunnel.”

“It’s metaphorical.”

“It’s freaking crazy, that’s what it is.” The kid shook his head and murmured to himself, “Now I know why Ollie never likes to come to this city.”

“What do you mean Ollie?” he caught the word and asked. All the weapons on the kid had been locked up safe, nothing quite out of the ordinary, except there’s a well crafted bow and a quiver.

How was the little guy supposed to shoot an arrow? Jason had wondered when he had inspected the red colored bow; now he came to think about it, he realized maybe the kid didn’t bring it along for practical reason but a sentimental one.

“Don’t tell me you are a new sidekick of Green Arrow. Or maybe the red one?” he said after regarded the kid for a few seconds. That would be fitting the profile, the kid wasn’t the homicidal type, which meant he probably hadn’t got trained by an assassin. He was a good shot and a skilled fighter, and those Arrows were both of those things.

If he had to take a guess, Oliver Queen seemed more likely; taking in some poor orphan to his endless crusade, that’s what he had done before. Guessed the rich guys really thought alike.

He was pondering absentmindedly, and he was only adding the ‘red one’ part because of the whole red theme. Though he didn’t know much about Red Arrow, but unlike his mentor, the guy probably had known too much from firsthand experience to bring some poor kid into this whole mess of a hero business.

If he remembered correctly, Harper didn’t seem like the mentor type, especially when he had his own children, Jason doubted he would ever want to put another kid in danger.

But once he had said it, the short red hair seemed to have more meaning than he originally thought. The kid’s face seemed vaguely familiar before, now seemed a bit more than just vague.

He tried to recall Harper’s face, which was quite memorable, with the whole hot-mess aura. He had only met the guy when he was a teen, but being a teen meant he was bound to check out all the hot friends of his predecessor when he had come to visit the Tower.

How would the Red Arrow look like, when he was younger, grumpier and unhinged? Jason was looking at the answer. “Do you have some sort of relation with Roy Harper?”

“What do you know about Roy Harper,” the kid narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Were they green underneath the white lens of the domino? He bet they were.

“Not much, only met the guy a few times when I was your age. A friend of my…family, in a manner of speaking.”

“Who are you.”

He shook his head. “I asked you first, little Red.”

“That doesn’t mean I need to answer.”

“But I think you do. The suitcase, I took a look inside when you’re out, and I can understand why you want it. So please, tell me about yourself, and maybe I would hand it back to you. Or, you could fight me, though we both know how it’ll turn out.”

The kid glared at him with his teeth gnashed. “Fine,” he ground out eventually, and Jason smiled in return.

“Good. And just so you know, I can read micro expressions, so don’t bother to lie.”

It looked like the teen wanted to spring, at him, or possibly away from him, seeing the way the kid clutched his fist with his back hunched. If he was a cat, he would be hissing from the back of his throat with his hair erected, probably jumping around like crazy if Jason so much as moved toward him.

What’s with the psychotic reaction, really? Would he himself look like that, if he hadn’t come back from the dead with a brain damage? Jason wondered.

“I don’t have any kind of relation with Roy Harper,” the kid started in a low voice. “I _am_ Roy Harper.”

He looked at the kid flatly. “You are the Red Arrow.”

The kid exhaled through clenched teeth, clearly trying to calm himself.

“I’m not the fricking _Red Arrow_ —I am—he’s my clone.”

 

***

 

“I didn’t expect to see you…Mr. Harper.”

Of course he didn’t, in all those lives he had screwed up, he wouldn’t even remember what he had done to a certain one all those years ago, if Roy hadn’t drawn him out of his building and ready to have his revenge.

Whatever scheme Luthor and the Light had made had been all flashed down into the toilet; not long after the superman clone incident, a sudden alien attack had come up and put the whole earth in danger. The facility they had used to store all of the information they needed to activate the whole thing had been destroyed during the attack.

It was a good plan, nevertheless, to made a clone of Green Arrow’s sidekick, plant a sleeping agent and attack the Justice League from the inside, they had finished the cloning part and set the clone out already, Luthor and his partners probably would’ve found a way to continue the whole thing once the crisis had passed, if the disaster hadn't made them lost whatever control they had on the clone.

The plan was abandoned, eventually. And all of this was for nothing, _he_ had been sacrificed for nothing.

The lab in Tibet where they had shipped his body off had been ruined due to an accident; god know how many more years he would have spent frozen in a cryogenic chamber under the ruin, or even ever had a chance to wake up and be recognize again, if the clone hadn’t gone to search for him once he had learnt about the truth. 

The _clone_ , it felt all kinds of weird to refer him as that.

Cadmus made or not, the guy had all of his memory and skill, even with the same personality. Since the plan had never been activated, it seemed to Roy that the guy probably hadn’t made a choice of his life that he himself wouldn’t have made under the same circumstances.

He was every bit as Roy Harper as him; more, actually, with the friends he had, the career he made, the _family_.

“What am I suppose to do now,” he had said to the older Roy at his counterpart’s place.

He didn’t want to stay at the infirmary in the Hall, Ollie thought he should go home with him, but Roy and his older self both knew there’s no way he could’ve stood the sight of the blond man right now, considered how he had spouted flame at Ollie’s face once he had learnt everything from his counterpart.

So the guy had taken him into his apartment instead, it’s better than staying with Ollie, but not by far. He didn’t think he could stand being there either.

“I wish I could tell you,” the older Roy had replied, looking more like he was feeling sad than just feeling pity for him (or for the both of them, actually). “But honestly, I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do most of the days.”

“I think you do fine, being in the big league and all, and you have a daughter,” he had muttered. “Good kid, no comment for the mother though. An assassin, really, that’s what we dig?” He had thrown a skeptical look at the guy. His counterpart puffed out a dry laugh.

“Yeah, unfortunately. But something good does come out of it.”

He had tried to remember, the fire, the tribal life, the days on the street. It’s not though there wasn’t any bright part inside, the part where Ollie had taken him in appeared to be bright enough, but at this point, it had seemed to him that everything around him did have a tendency of falling apart.

Maybe it wasn’t a problem of any of those things. He couldn’t help but thinking. “Maybe you are the improved version.”

The older Roy had given him a long, meaningful look with a pair of rueful eyes.

“I had bunch of bad moments, Roy,” he had started, and the tone he had used sounded like he knew exactly what was going through Roy’s head. Of course he knew, they had the same brain.

“I made mistakes, I just have to learn better than to repeat it. We are what we are, I don’t think I have ever done anything better than anyone. And you could do whatever you think is good for you, you deserve to have your life back, Roy. If I could give you back all those years I would, but I don’t know how I could do that. I just want you to know I’m here for you, we all are, including Ollie.”

The snort he had let out was hollow and heatless. “Did they somehow make you more mature?” The older Roy had flicked him a smile.

“Nah, if you think I'm mature that just because I’m old, like grandpa old. Raising a kid does that to you.”

And that’s the moment a small crash had risen from the apartment somewhere. “Lian?” The older guy had hailed loudly while heading for one of the rooms.

“I’m okay, daddy,” the little thing with the raven hair had replied. Roy had watched her jumped up into her daddy’s arms, held tight around him and fitting in there like a perfect piece.

“I broke something!” she had confessed in a cry, and her daddy had responded in the same tone, “Of course you did!”

Since he had stuck being a fifteen year old, he had never thought of himself would be having a kid, or ever wanted one. But why wouldn’t he, seeing how he could be able to love someone so unconditionally, the same sort of love he always craved as a child, and to have that strong, exclusive love in return.

It didn’t matter who was born how, what the older guy had in there was the only thing that truly defined which one of them was real and meaningful.

He had stood in the living room, watched them like a ghost.

“You have two choices here, princess,” the older Roy had said in a threatening tone, “You could either help me clean up the mess or you could go play with Roy, what is going to be, huh?”

“Roy!” she had giggled, twisted in her daddy’s arms and screamed out the answer, right before the moment Roy had left the apartment.

Where should he go from that, that wasn’t much of a question.

“Please, Mr. Harper, sure we can work something out.” Luthor drawled, still with all the obnoxious confidence, even when Roy had taken out the lady robot guard that escorted him, and roped his right arm with a detonation cord.

“Oh we did, an arm for an arm, Luthor. And incase you haven’t recognized, this is the same weapon you have sold illegally,” Roy twitched his mouth into a smirk, holding the detonator firmly in his one hand.

It really was the perfect revenge, just thought about how it had all started with the weapon trade he had investigated alone all those years ago.

All those years ago, he had traced down the lead to a LexCorp’s shell company, only ended up being captured and taken to Cadmus. The scientists there had amputated his arm, supplied themselves with all the DNA they needed to perfect their cloning technique.

Now he was going to do the same thing to Luthor as he had done to him, take away his arm with his own damn product. “Time to taste your own medicine, Luthor.”

Luthor let out a tired sigh. “Mr. Harper,” he said, “I could understand your urge for revenge, but are you sure you’re willing to pay the price?”

Roy scowled, then instantly noticed how he was covered with the red spots from all the rifles that were targeting him. A squad of LexCorp’s private military had positioned behind his back and ready to take the shot.

“Revenge is a sucker’s game, son,” the big corporate owner remarked; all high and mighty which made Roy really regret his own decision of trying to blow up his arm. He should have killed this man the moment he had the chance, somebody should have, all those years ago.

“You can have the revenge you want, but that certainly will be the last thing you ever done. A moment of satisfaction, is that what you want, Mr. Harper? When you—I sincerely apologize—have finally had your life back?” Luthor tipped his head and regarding him in a mild curious manner.

“You think I care?” Roy spat out, “You think I have a _life_?”

That seemed to be taken Luthor aback. He inspected Roy for a moment.

“You are young, Mr. Harper,” he started cautiously. “What you chose to do in here is what truly defined you, not the past event, not anything from before. Pardon me for what I’m about to say, but the truth is, nobody has expected you would still be alive, yet here you are, come back from the oblivion, and put me into danger, which isn’t an easy task to achieve.”

With the hand that was wrapped inside the detonation cord was holding up safely away from his body, Luthor slipped his other hand under his suit jacket, pulled out a memo pad and a pen from his suit pocket.

He took an incisive look at Roy, before he lowered his right arm carefully, and started to write something down on the memo pad that he held in his palm.

Seconds later, he tore off the paper, handed it toward Roy with his left hand. “I am willing to compensate you for the loss, Mr. Harper, if you have decided that your life might be worth a little bit more than…well, me.”

“You think you can buy me off?”

Luthor flashed him a smile.

“No, son, but I think I could give you a chance to live a more compete life, by repair some of your losses,” the bald guy said, and slowly, Roy reached out, snatched the piece of paper in a flash with his occupied hand.

If Luthor wanted to try anything, he would be real sorry; the bald guy did nothing but stand still.

“What is it,” Roy queried, adjusting his hold on the detonator carefully so he could see what was written on the paper.

“A product of my company, it's currently in someone else’s possession, along with some other things.”

“You mean something you sold to the criminals.”

Regardless to his retort, Luthor said with ease, “Did you see what Mercy has? What you could get yourself is even better. If I’ve expected to see you, I would have prepared something for your condition, but I didn’t. And I would personally help you out if I think there’s a chance you would be willing to go anywhere with me. I figured it’s best if I just give you the location I know and the sequence number of the product, then you could help yourself out. You’ve proved yourself to be resourceful, I believe it wouldn’t be too much trouble for you.”

Thinking of the lady robot he had disabled awhile ago, he stared at the piece of paper for a second, before he returned his gaze to Luthor.

“How do I know it isn’t a trap.”

“You don’t,” Luthor answered with faint shrug.

“But trust me, Mr. Harper, I have all these consuming business to attend to these days, I don’t need an angry teenager on my back, especially those who have your connection.”

The man smiled, and wouldn’t it be nice? If he could just blow off the remorseless confidence on his face. Roy stared at him and thought.

“What is it going to be, son,” Luthor asked him, “Do you think you should give yourself a chance? Try to repair the loss, and find some meaning of your existence, maybe? Or do you think today is the day you cease to exist--again?”

Roy glared him deadly.

He hated bad guy with a silver tongue.

 

***

 

“Now are you going to give it back to me or not?” the kid said impatiently once he had finished the story.

He really should’ve phrased his question better. “What if I’m not,” Jason replied halfheartedly, while wondering was it right to keep calling the little redhead a kid.

He wasn’t that little, actually, he was tall by his age, though probably not going to grow up as tall as Jason himself, if he constructed into the same physique as his counterpart; the counterpart who was older than Jason by a few years.

The kid—well, Roy—skinned his face with a pair of fiery eyes, looked every bit like he was going to fight Jason hand-to-hand, and to hell with the small chances.

He wondered would little Roy here had a better temper if he hadn’t been frozen in a pod for a decade, then he realized, it would be like asking himself if he would be a better person if everything was just a bit different.

If he hadn't had such shitty parents, if he hadn't been a street kid, if he hadn't decided to try his luck on the Batmobile, if he had said "thanks but no thanks" instead of taking the golden ticket, thinking himself was the good Charlie boy when in truth he was the other mean kid who got washed out in the Chocolate Factory.

 _If_ he didn’t get killed.

What’s with all the big ‘ifs’, really.

“Settle down, little Red,” Jason told the teen in a calm tone, having no interest to torture a kid, not even those highly obnoxious ones like the little leaguer.

Slowly, he pulled open one of the drawers in his desk, brought out the suitcase and laid it onto his lap.

The case was opened by a click in the lock, he palpated the tech inside, studied it with appreciation. A real piece of beauty he was looking at here. He pulled it out and examined it with his hands.

It was lighter than it looked, and it appeared to have great agility. Though the structure of the limp was plain mechanical, with no artificial skin to trick anyone into believe it was a real flesh and blood, but who needed a visual comfort when you had that kind of power and the versatility? Not him anyway; but he wasn’t the one who lost an arm, so.

Looking up from the artificial arm and landed his gaze onto the teen’s face, he turned the case around to let Roy see the beauty inside.

The teen’s eyes fixated on it the second he saw it, staring intently under the mask, with the anticipation so clear and sharp it could cut through the air.

Jason tucked his lips into a smile. “What are you planning to do,” he started casually. “Once you have both of your arms working again, are you going to settle things with your clone or something?”

Roy squinted his eyes skeptically. “What do you mean ‘settle things’.”

Instead of giving a straight answer, he pointed out, “He stole your life, didn’t he?”

“He didn’t steal my life,” Roy replied in a low voice, moved up his one arm in front of his chest, as though he wanted to cross it, but than dropped it again, once he had remembered he only got one in the moment.

“He didn’t ask to be made, and he was the one who dug me up from the wreckage and pulled me out of the freezer. Guy didn’t do anything wrong.”

But wouldn’t it be better, if he did? Somebody _had_ to do something wrong. Otherwise, what was everyone supposed to do, when they had woken up and learned that their life was completely ruined with no meaning behind.

“Not Green Arrow though. He didn’t save you, he gave up on you,” referring to what the teen had told him, he said in an even tone, a kind of understanding tone, actually.

The kid cast up his gaze abruptly and locked eyes with him. He couldn’t help himself but got captured by the roaring anger; the feeling of betrayal he could still easily felt it brewing in his guts.

Something about it felt good somehow, the surge of energy that lit up by the wrath that brought up by the pain, plumped him up with strength instead of feeling weak and worthless, like a meaningless little scum, the kind of scum that would easily be stomped, be forgotten, and be replaced.

“How about him, Roy? Wouldn’t you want to settle things with Oliver?” he spoke to the kid softly, eyes digging deep inside, getting through the domino without trying.

A moment later, the teen dropped his gaze.

“No,” he grumbled, “I don’t want anything to do with him.”

Jason hummed in acknowledgement.

“Okay.”

Roy tossed up his gaze again, inspecting him with squinted eyes. “’Okay’? What do you mean ‘okay’? What the hell are we doing here? What’s with all the questions? What do you want? And, seriously, _who the hell are you_?”

“Well, my name is Jason, and what we are doing here is an interview.”

“What, what interview? Why am I getting an interview, what’s going on here? Explain to me!”

The kid really should’ve calmed down, he looked like he was three seconds away from having a stroke.

“Gotham needs its Batman, and I’m going to be exactly what it needs,” Jason explained, then lifted his hand with suggestion, “Sure you know the tradition.”

“What.”

“That Batman usually comes with a Robin.”

“What,” the kid stared at him as though he was deranged. But he wasn’t, he never was, not in the real sense, and that was the problem.

It would be easier if he was, just be dragged inside the lunacy, instead of trying to sort things out within the eternal whirl of chaos.

“You want me to…what? Be your _Robin_?”

The kid shook his head. “You must be crazier than I thought. I should’ve just left you. Why did I go back to save you? I should’ve just left.”

“Well, I’m sure if I wasn't there, Black Mask and his goons would’ve torn you apart within a second. And look at us, already watching each other’s back like a team.”

“I am not going to be your sidekick. I am done being anyone’s sidekick.”

“Then put it in another way, don’t use the ‘S’ word, call yourself my personal assistant, my teammate, or my partner, though I think partnership is a bit overrated.”

“I’m just gonna say it, word by word, so you can hear it.”

The teen took a deep breath, then gritted out hard, “I, am, not, going, to, be, your freaking, Robin.”

“But that’s the thing, little Red,” Jason flashed him a smile, knocking the side of the suitcase with his index finger, “You want your arm, don’t you? And with an arm like this? You don’t need to be my Robin, you could be my little arsenal.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somethings about this whole setting:
> 
> Except the teenage Roy part, it actually isn't anything that concern the YJ universe.  
> The whole Red Arrow sleeping agent thing never happened in here, because it seems to me that if I want the age difference to work, that means original Roy couldn't be found only after five years of searching, and which means Red Arrow would keep searching for him for a long time.  
> But how could he do that with Lian growing up? I believe there will be a point that he'd come to realize that he has to give up the search if he want what's best for his daughter, and I wouldn't want him to do anything except that, because for any good dad, his child will and should always come first.
> 
> So I've decided to make the change, which allowed me to write the Pre52 Roy, who I always considered him could be quite emotionally mature and understanding, especially around younger people (because experienced dad, really).  
> And despite how shocking the news was, it wouldn't be too devastating for him to learn that he was a clone, if only he had been already raising Lian, since the existence of his daughter would be able to balance him, and he will be stay strong for his daughter, so he would be able to find a way to do the searching but not be consumed by it.
> 
> And it definitely would be more painful for teen Roy to face him and Lian, than just face the Red Arrow in Young Justice.


	2. Chapter 2

“This is a joke,” he proclaimed coldly after stared dead at Jason for a moment. “Keep the damn thing, psycho. Whatever lunacy is going on in this crazy city, I don’t want no part of it.”

“What, you’re just going to leave?”

“Try and stop me,” the teen snarled in response.

Although it would be easy to do that, especially since the kid had been disarmed, Jason did nothing drastic, staying comfortably on the chair he had been sitting, closed the suitcase on his lap, hands holding loosely together and laid on top of the case.

He had no intention to hold a kid against his will, let alone harm one by doing so, he was all about the kids, seriously, if there’s a child and a grown-up in trouble and it appeared he could only save one, he would definitely went for the kid and left the adult to die; though Bruce and his loyal pupils probably would risk their own life to try to save both, even if the adult was a criminal, but they’re idealist, while he, on the other hand, was realistic.

Sure he had fought against the kid a little at the warehouse, but little Roy—Speedy? Was that the name?—had no problem of engaging into a fight, and he could’ve hurt the little guy real bad if he ever wanted to, instead just held him down.

He had only brought Roy here so they could talk, so he could learn about what’s the deal with the one arm kid soldier. The method might’ve seemed a bit rough, but he didn’t think little Red here would’ve gone anywhere with him willingly.

Stepped away from the couch, the kid headed to the exit of his underground base.

“Come on, don’t be childish,” it's the only effort Jason made to change his mind. “I'm not going to rob the good you stole from the criminal. Luthor gave you the tip for an exchange, it’s your compensation, and you did find it yourself.”

The kid glanced at Jason over his shoulder. Jason flicked him an innocent smile and continued.

“And what about your gear, Roy? You’re just gonna leave it at my disposal?”

“I saw what you did before,” the kid turned slowly, facing him with a dark scowl.

“I’m not stupid, I know I’m in your turf and there’s no chance I could fight you with bare hand and get my things back. But I’m gonna walk, and you’re not going to stop me. _No one_ —is going to imprison me anywhere— ** _never again_**.”

At the end of the sentence, the kid was growling furiously. It hadn’t come to his realization before, but when little Roy woke up and found out he had been brought into somewhere while he was unconscious, that must have put quite a scare on him.

“The bad guy did do a number on you, didn’t they?” he pointed out easily, lips twitched into something too cold to be a smile, yet too genial to be a sneer.

Before the kid could’ve replied, Jason stood up from the chair, carried the suitcase in one hand.

“Relax,” he said to Roy, who looked like he was going to sprung a mile away the moment Jason had started to move. He held up his hands nonthreateningly as he walked closer to the teen, picked up a brown jacket that lying on the arm of the couch.

Roy seemed like he needed a change of clothing, the recent fight had left quite a few tatters on his costume, which now Jason had learned about his identity, he realized it was his old sidekick suit, only without the yellow hat.

Despite there was no chance that the kid would’ve accepted, Jason might’ve offered the kid to change his clothes just to be nice, if he had anything that would’ve fit the kid in his wardrobe; but he hadn’t, so he guessed they had to run out like this. It’s not like where they’re going had a dress-code anyway.

The gray armor suit he himself had worn to the fight hadn’t winded up much better than the kid’s costume, he had already changed it after he had tended his own wound, while Roy was still unconscious.

Left the scrapped cape and the helmet at where they were, he put on the jacket and suggested, “Come on.” The kid scowled at him with suspicion. “I’m not going to stop you from walking out of here, but I think you might like to go to somewhere else with me.”

“Why the hell would I go anywhere with you.”

“Well, you want to put your new arm to work, aren’t you?” he brought up the suitcase in his hand to draw the little guy’s interest. The cybernetic arm required way more than just be worn, the kid would need a surgery for it to attach to his body.

“You want the arm, then the arm is yours. But what are you going to do with it? Are you going to went back to your old man and ask his pals for help? Or perhaps you think you could try your luck with Luthor again and pray that he won’t screw you up more than he already did?”

“I could find someone else to take care it myself.”

“Yeah, but I know people who could take care this sort of thing in Gotham, and we could go and put that arm on you right now,” Jason offered casually.

The kid seemed to be baffled for a second, then scrunched his brows skeptically, trying to figure out was it a trap or not.

“What’s the catch,” he queried, no matter how reluctant he sounded, surely he had realized that if Jason wanted to harm him, then he would’ve been harmed already.

“No catch, I promise,” Jason responded with a half shrug, mouth curled up into a smile. “You went back for me at the warehouse, it’s the least I could do to show my appreciation. And, well, maybe you would change your mind about turning off my offer if we could spend a little more time together.”

Not seem to be convinced by it, the teen clammed his mouth tight and stared at Jason with a broody face; but no doubt he was considering. It wasn’t the worst choice he could have, after all.

“Just come with me, Roy,” Jason induced him, “and I’ll make you whole again. It won’t even hurt.”

 

***

 

“This is going to hurt,” the doctor indicated, after he examined the tech and the residual part of the upper limb. “Whoever performed the amputation has done a marvelous job, the incision is clean and it healed up perfectly. It appeared to me you never got any sorts of infection.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I hadn’t, how could I get an infection when I was locked up in a disinfection freezer,” Roy replied dryly with a sneer on his face.

The doctor didn’t seem to mind him, he went on explain, more regarding to Jason than to the kid who was lying on the operating table.

“If we’re going to attach the arm, I’ll have to open up the tissue and connect it to the nerves. The pain would be formidable.” He turned his gaze to Roy, “I’ll make sure you sleep through the whole surgery, but it’s still going to hurt once you wake up. It probably would keep hurting for at least a few days before you can adjust.”

“You’re not putting me into sleep,” the kid braced his left hand on the operating table, sat up quickly and snarling, “I’m not going to black out when someone operates on me.”

The doctor stared at him for a second, then turned to looked at Jason who was standing beside the table.

Jason shrugged.

“Kid doesn’t want to be unconscious. Just give him a local anesthesia.”

“It won’t be enough.”

“I can take it,” Roy instantly gritted out.

The doctor didn’t make a response to it, but asked Jason instead, “What’s the relation between you and the young man, Mr. Red Hood?”

“Why,” Jason returned the question curiously.

“Well, if he’s going into shock and his heart gave out, I don’t want you to kill me.”

That sounded reasonable enough. Jason acknowledged it with a nod.

“We’re not related,” he told the doctor. “But I’m not a doctor myself, which means whatever happens here, I could only hold you responsible for it, and considered how many criminals you've brought back to life or helped weaponize their body, it would be best if you don’t kill a kid in front of me.”

The doctor thought for a brief moment, eyes traveled between the cybernetic arm and Roy, before he finally looked back at Jason. “But you will pay me, right?”

“Of course I will. Business is business, doc. I’m not a bully.”

The look on the doctor’s face suggested that he might’ve thought otherwise, he turned and went to gather the equipment nevertheless.

“You’ll have to hold him down if he started to struggle too much,” the doctor instructed, once he put everything in ready and started to restrain Roy into the operating table.

As the doctor fastened the straps, the kid bit hard on his teeth and clenched his fist, tensed up in a way that seemed like he might have snatched a scalpel at any second and fight for his freedom.

His body gave out a small jerk once he felt a hand rested on his left shoulder. Jason put his hand firmly on the tensed muscle. “You could call it off if you’re not ready,” he crouched down a little and whispered into the teen’s ear, “It’s okay if you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Roy hissed under his breath.

That’s cute, but he wasn’t doing the reverse psychology here.

“It won’t be like when they took away your arm without you knowing,” he searched for the kid’s eyes, and Roy looked back through the domino. “It will hurt like hell.”

“What choice do I have,” the kid grunted.

 _You could’ve walked away, just forget about everything, forget about the fight—the scar—any of them had put on you, went away and live a less complicated life._ He didn’t say any of that, because it would be a joke.

The way he had fought in the warehouse, fighting the bad guy as if it was his birthright; the desire that had risen up to his eyes as he had seen the cybernetic arm, not a bit disappointed by its artificial look, but falling sorely for its abilities. It had all made it clear to Jason that the kid was exactly the type of fighter he had been forged, and there’s no walking out of that, not since the moment someone had taught him the skill of fighting.

He might not be fighting alongside his mentor anymore, but he would fight till the day he dies. They all did.

“I have no idea how good your pain endurance is, but if you’re starting to think it’s too much, just remember--” he murmured directly to the kid, voice so small as if he was sharing a secret.

While the doctor was waiting aside with an aloof expression on his face, they focused on each other under the domino they’re wearing.

“This is **_your_** choice,” Jason promised, “just like any other choices you’re going to make from now on. No one is going to grab a hold of you again, do you hear me?”

A few seconds later, Roy answered in a rasp, “Yah.”

Jason moved to the head of the operating table and put both hands onto each side of his shoulder; the teen gave a curt nod to the doctor, granted him the permission to process.

A local anesthesia as promised, the doctor came to him with the needle in hand, plunged the anesthetic into the residue of his right arm and waited for a little until the drug was working.

The teen stared at his own arm intently, didn’t seem to feel any physical discomfort when the doctor opened his skin.

“This is so gross,” Roy muttered, eyes never wandered off for a second.

Jason puffed out a soft laugh, and just about to tell him how much worse he had seen, but the doctor had moved onto the next step, and the teen inhaled sharply.

Few seconds later, he started to scream.

“Hey,” Jason shifted aside, kept pressing the kid’s upper body down into the table, while sliding a hand to his left hand. A small touch in the fist, then the teen clutched his hand in a split second, fingers drilling into his skin.

The grip was tight and fierce, but it wouldn’t be hurt more than anytime he had a nasty fight, and it sure wouldn’t be anywhere near how the little guy was feeling right now.

Jason flexed his own hand and let the teen grasp it as hard as he wanted. If pain could be discerned as good and evil, then this was a good sort of pain; not forced by someone and taking it because there’s no otherwise.

He watched the kid intently, and he was wondering, did it make him a terrible person if he found the sight of the teen thrashing in such great pain was fascinating?

“Do you wanna know something?” The kid didn’t respond but kept shouting, body trembling like a pot of water that was boiled up. “Hey,” Jason tried to drag his attention, “Hey, little Red, look at me. Take a deep breath and look at me.”

Slowly, the kid puffed out a shaky breath and quieted down a little. Jason waited patiently until Roy turned his eyes on him.

“Do you wanna know what I'd do when I’m in pain?”

The teen made a gruff noise that was more of a muffled scream than a response. Jason couldn’t see his pupils behind the lens, he thought for a second that should he remove the mask, would it be too risky to explode the kid’s face in front of the doctor.

He mused absently while he was saying, “When I’m in pain, I could always just imagine something that will make everything seems worth it, imagine what I could do to those who caused it, think about how much more I could do to repay them.”

An ear-deafening shout, the teen squeezed his eyes shut.

“Hey, little Red,” Jason called for him, “Try to think about something else, could you do that?”

The kid let out a strangle sound.

“Don’t focus on the pain, try to think about the _connection_ maybe. If you’re feeling the pain, that means the good doctor here is connecting you with your new arm. A cool arm, kid, I see a lot of cool things, but that arm is still damn impressing. And it’s going to be yours, Red, it’s going to be _you_. You’ll have an arsenal with you any seconds from now on, no bad guy can ever put you down, or capture you. Ever.”

A faint rasp slipped out of the kid’s trembling mouth, “ _Why,_ ” he gasped, “why are you…talking…so much.”

“I’m just trying to make a conversation here.”

The kid puffed out a ragged sound that seemed to be a snort. “I think…you just— _urgh_ —like to hear your own…voice,” he managed between gasps.

Jason flashed him a smirk.

 

***

 

He stopped in front of the door for a second, before he turned to face the man slowly.

“I don’t--” he started, but the man cut him off.

“No,” the man said in a stern voice, standing tall before him in his expensive suit, and inspected him with a grim expression. “You want to do this, then you need help.”

“But I--”

“ _What happened_ ,” the big man interrupted him again. “--What happened with **_Felipe Garzonasa_**.”

The face of the rapist flashed through his mind eyes, along with the victimized woman who had gotten raped and driven into suicide.

 _What happened with **her**_ , was the real question; the woman who was torn and broken, by the brutality of a big bully, just died insignificantly since that was the only way, since she had nothing in her disposal to be against what had been forced on her. How could she endure the pain, when she wasn’t strong enough.

Not all people were strong enough. Not all of them had the endurance.

“ _How bad it hurts?_ ” he had asked, once he had taken care of his own broken face in the bathroom and walked out into the small living space.

While the man had gone to the bed, all loosened up as he had let out enough of his anger and slept restfully without a care, the woman had lie on the couch, arms drooping at the side of her body, with an empty needle slipped out of her fingers.

She didn’t seem to be in pain, not after she had taken the medicine. “ _I’m good, babe..._ ” she had given him a languish smile. “ _I’m good…_ ”

 _“You’ll be hurting in the morning,”_ he had replied, scrunched his brows sadly as he had walked toward her with the first-aid kit. She had hummed in daze when he had cleaned up her face with a cotton ball.

 _“I’m good, no hurtin’ babe…”_ she murmured in a soft, feathery tone, soft as she always was, soft and defenseless. She had gazed up at him with a half-lidded eye, the one eye that hadn’t swollen up like the other one.

 _“Such a good boy, my little man,”_ she had told him while she was floating in her delirious dream, _“such beautiful eyes…”_

Why did the memory come to his mind, he didn’t know; it seemed irrelevant, it seemed connected.

Pushed the memory aside, he bit on his lips, didn’t respond by return the question to the man like he wanted to. No need to provoke a fight that he couldn’t win, not with everything he wanted was in his grasp.

A great shelter, a life without struggle, somewhere he could get a meal anytime he wanted without stealing; someone who cared and would make him better and stronger, someone who wouldn’t fail and would teach him how to do so.

He wasn’t going to blow it, because he wasn’t going to go back. He was a smart boy, a talented one, if he could survive the street, then he could survive the manor.

Just played by the rule, and everything would turn out good for him.

What was the rule again?

“What happened with Felipe Garzonasa,” the man in the well-tailored suit demanded him again. He looked up at the sharp blue eyes.

He thought about the moment when the rapist had fallen off the balcony; he had stood silently at the verge before Bruce had showed up, eyes never strayed off from the criminal until the body had hit the ground.

“I spooked him,” he answered, same as the last time.

The man regarded him for a moment.

“Get in,” was all he said, before he pulled open the door for him. “I’ll fetch you when this is finished.”

He walked inside the room reluctantly. The man left and closed the door behind him.

“Please, sit down, Mr. Todd,” said the psychiatrist sitting on a armchair, hand gesturing at the chaise lounge in front of him.

He walked to the chaise lounge and sat down carefully.

“Jason—may I call you Jason?” the psychiatrist started. With a pen in his hand, he was sitting cross-legged, there’s an opened notebook laying on his lap.

“Call me whatever you want, I just want to get it over with.”

The psychiatrist studied him for a few seconds. “You don’t seem happy to be here.”

He responded with nothing but a shrug, didn’t bother to tell the guy how he didn’t need it, how he would rather go back on training or work on a case.

Bruce was making him better, taught him how to fight and how to bring down all those criminals that were abusing this city, and that was all the help he needed.

“Tell me about yourself, Jason,” the psychiatrist asked in a curious tone. He shook his head a little.

“What do you want to know, mister?”

“Anything,” the man said. “How do you feel about your father, or your mother.”

“Not much,” he replied simply. “Dad’s dead, mom’s dead, I have another mom, the biological one, she’s dead too.”

The psychiatrist hummed in response, while wrote down something in his notebook. “Do you think this is your fault?” he asked without looking up.

He frowned at the guy.

“What?”

“Do you think this is your fault, Jason?”

What?

“They brought dead to themselves, how is that my fault?” he spitted, getting angry all of a sudden. “Dad died in prison because he’s a scum, and he got what he deserved.”

“And those women? Have they gotten what they deserve?”

He glared at the psychiatrist, fists clutched at the sides of his body.

“The woman betrayed me, she gave me up to a killer.”

“But what about your stepmom, she wasn’t bad.”

“She was weak,” he murmured under his breath, an image of a dead woman barged into his view. The cold body lying on the dark alley of the street, along with all the garbage. His own clothes had been stained by all the dirt around just as hers, when he had stumbled down on the hard ground and leaned over the dead junkie.

 _“You’re gonna kill yourself, mom, please,”_ he had told her a thousand times, but she never listened. _“I’m good,”_ was all she had responded, _“I need it.”_ And he understood, he really did.

Not everyone had the high tolerance, sometimes they just wanted it to stop, when it was too much. Sure she wouldn’t care if the painkiller not just going to take away the pain without taking her too.

How were they supposed to win, if they were too weak to fight. If the pain just came upon them again and again, and they just didn't have the strength to push back.

He dropped his eyes while he answered in a small voice, “It wasn’t my fault she couldn’t be stronger.”

“But sure it’s your fault that you aren’t strong enough? To save her? To save yourself? Isn’t that why you died?” the psychiatrist stated.

He glared up at the man, and startled to find that the face of the psychiatrist was way too familiar.

“ _You’re useless,_ ” no more peacefulness in his tone, the man spat in toxin anger. “What are you good for, you damn piece of shit.”

The shadow shrouded him as the man stood up high and raised his fist even higher. He lifted up his arm instinctively and tried to fend off the strike.

He could take him down, he had been trained and he had fought bigger man than him.

Instead of a fist that he had expected, a crowbar knocked hard into his raised forearm, broken his brittle bone with merely one swing.

He yelled out in pain.

“Birdie bones, so fragile,” his dad started to giggle, face turned white within a blank of an eye, as though someone had poured a white paint all over the man’s face while he wasn’t looking.

The man’s mouth was breaking into an enormous grin. The mouth was blood red, it filled up his sight and hurting his eyes with its savage color.

“So fragile, so easy,” the big bully with a clown face remarked cheerfully.

“What are you looking at, little boy?” The freak cranked his head and peered at his face.

He turned away and started to run, but the door was locked.

“What _spooked_ you,” the clown followed him by taking a few effortless bounce, kept peering at him with a pair of blue eyes that he had seen so many times.

A strike hit him hard in the face and he stumbled down, he tried to get up, get up and fight back, but none of the skills he had learnt was presenting, everywhere he turned, there’s a brutal strike. He was supposed to be stronger than this, how come he wasn't?

“ _You try to fight me, little boy?_ ” He could hear the sneering voice, but it wasn’t coming from the clown, but coming from his own memory.

Which memory was it?

Which time he had gotten beaten because he was too weak to put up a fight?

A crowbar thrust into his stomach, nailed him into the ground like a little specimen. The clown leaned onto the top of the metal, put his whole body weight into the crowbar.

The pain made he croak.

“What are you seeing, tell me,” the clown questioned him from above, pulled out the notebook and the pen, “What put that look in your eyes, what are you afraid of? What is the _truth_ of Jason Peter Todd.”

Eyes stretched open, he waked up with a cold sweat, stared dead at the ceiling of his bedroom while his heart was racing.

 

***

 

He left his room and walked into the main area of his underground base, the kid was sitting on the couch and hugging his knees, staring at the television with a small frown on his face; a sort of frown that seemed to be his natural expression, more than just being concentrated on whatever he was watching on the TV.

There’s no light had been put on, the TV screen was the only thing that kept the whole place from fallen into darkness. Jason stood at the corner and watched the kid for a few seconds, seeing how the light gleaming on that naked face.

None of them had bothered to put on a domino at this point, though he wouldn’t go as far as saying that the kid had started to trust him after they had spent a couple of hours in the doctor’s place, but the kid did go back with him once the surgery was completed.

Not that little Roy could go anywhere by himself, the kid hadn’t passed out during the surgery, but he had been drained to the bone afterward.

“Where do you want to go now,” Jason had asked, watching the kid crawled up slowly and swung his feet out of the operating table. “Do you need me to call you a cab?”

The kid had glare at him. No doubt that he had put on his best effort, but it really hadn’t seemed as threatening as he would like, with his face had gone all pale and his body still hadn’t done shaking.

“Are you mocking me?”

“No, why would I do that? I’m clearly showing concern,” Jason had replied, and the kid had puffed out a faint snort. “But seriously, I don’t see how you could go anywhere on foot right now, or even go anywhere at all. So how about you come back with me and we can get you some rest.”

The kid had stared at him for a long moment, before twitched his mouth a little; though it’s all small and vague, Jason did think that was a smirk. “That sounds like a plan,” Roy had said.

So he had picked him up from the operating table, and brought him back to the base. “This is so embarrassing, now I want to be unconscious,” the kid had crossed his arms and grunted, when Jason had carried him into his arms.

By the time they’re back, it was already way past midnight, and it had been a long hard day.

Once he had settled the kid onto the couch, he had gone changing into his civilian clothes, before he could go out and grab some food. The kid hadn’t done much but just taken a glance at him as he had come out of the room without the mask.

“Careful with anything you touch, we don’t want to give you another surgery so soon,” he had reminded before leaving the teen alone in his place, incase the kid triggered any of the booby-traps he had set up.

The kid had thrown him a skeptical look. “You trust me with your cave?” he had queried, and Jason was pretty sure he had only referred it as a cave to be sarcastic.

“Trust is a strong word, Roy, lets not get ahead of ourselves,” he had replied with a smirk. It’s not like the kid would’ve robbed him anyway, and if he did, there’s nothing really indispensable in here.

The most likely thing he would do, was changing his mind about resting in a stranger’s place, find out where Jason had been hiding his gears, then grab it and run.

He actually had been half-expecting Roy might be gone by the time he had gotten back; but he didn’t, just slumping on the couch with his mask stripped off.

Who was being trustful here, Jason had thought but didn’t voice the remark. No matter how mature and independent he seemed, Roy was still pretty much a kid; not even his paranoid tendency was enough to stop him from getting drawn to someone who might’ve provided him exactly what he needed.

Jason had set the fast food on the table, pulled out a hamburger from the paper bag and thrown himself onto the empty side of the couch.

Roy had been too tired to be talkative, and he was good at being quiet as he was good at running his mouth; they had eaten in silence, but not an uncomfortable one.

There’s something he needed to check on the computer, something about the whole Black Mask business. Though Sionis had lost quite an amount of weapon supply tonight, but sure he wouldn’t just abandon whatever plan he was intending to pull, not for such a minor setback.

He had worked in front of the computer for a little while, tried to find any digital trace that might’ve leaded him to the mob boss.

Just as the doctor had predicted, before Jason had decided to call it a day and gone to bed, the kid’s arm had started to bother him, causing him to coil up on the couch and hiss in pain.

He had given the kid some Advil to put him at ease. He had thought Roy might be sleeping by now, but appeared none of them could sleep peacefully tonight.

“What are you watching,” Jason strolled to the couch and asked, slumping on the opposite side of the couch, putting his feet onto the table.

Roy tossed him a glance, before turning back to the TV. “Some movie I've never heard of, probably has came up when I was in the freezer.”

Jason hummed in response, pulled out the Marlboro from his pants pocket and lit a cigarette.

“How is the arm.”

“Like a bunch of crazy old ladies are pinching me,” the teen grunted. Jason puffed out a laugh.

“Want a drag?” thinking perhaps some nicotine might help, he offered carelessly, handing out the lighted cigarette to Roy.

The teen stared at him.

“What, never had a smoke before?”

“No," Roy grunted, "just haven’t done it since I met Ollie.”

“I thought the Green Arrow himself is a notorious bad boy,” he said with a quirk of an eyebrow. Roy didn’t answer, just stared grumpily at the TV.

He took a drag of cigarette and regarded the teen for a moment. “You wanted to impress him, didn’t you? Tried to show the big daddy you’re a good boy?”

“Is it just me, or are you always talk like a creep,” Roy threw him a dirty look. Jason grinned in return.

“Don’t hate me for pointing out the truth,” he simply replied. “And incase you’re wondering, there’s no daddy in the house. You can do anything you want, no judgment here.”

The teen snorted at that, but did take the cigarette from his fingers and taking a drag.

“Do you think you need more pills?” He took the cigarette Roy handed back to him, putting the lighter and the pack on the seating space between them, so the kid could suit himself if he wanted.

Instead of giving him an answer, Roy drew back his hands and went back to hug his own knees as he did before, staring at the void for a moment, then cast his gaze at Jason. “Why are you doing this,” he creased his eyebrows, more in confusion than being suspicious, “Why all the trouble.”

“I told you, I want you to join me.”

“But why me.”

_The **look** in your eyes, probably. Along with all the practical reasons._

He held gaze with the teen for a moment, seeing everything within the green eyes, everything including his own imperfect reflection within the small speck of shadow.

“What’s your plan, Roy?” he didn't answer but returned the question, “Do you want to run solo from now on, or maybe join the Teen Titans?”

“Neither seems like a bad choice,” the teen grumbled but didn’t turn his eyes away. Jason gave him a small smile.

“Well, I don’t know how you feel about running solo, but if I were you, I wouldn’t be too optimistic about playing in the team.”

“Why. What makes you say that?”

“Because I know. I was there once, buddy, though only for a short term.”

“You’re in the Teen Titans?”

“When I was Robin,” Jason told him. The kid scrunched his face and stared at him for a long moment.

“I feel like I should be posing a lot of questions right now.”

“Well, stay turned and you might find out the story,” Jason replied in a light tone. “But really, if you want to join those teams, then brace yourself, because sooner or later, someone would see something wrong and try to help you. That’s what they do, always want to fix the broken.”

Instantly, the kid’s face turned dark, the eyes that glared at Jason was thunderous. “You think I’m broken?”

" _You were **broken** ,"_ Bruce had said to him, in the video he had left before he died, " _It’s not too late for you to get the proper healing you never received._ "

He didn’t doubt if the man was trying to do a good thing, sure he was, since he was always such a good man. But how could he say that, it’s beyond Jason’s belief.

Had anyone made him go to a therapist after his parents died? Had it ever helped? Who was he to talk about _broken_.

Why would anyone need to talk to a doctor, when they had all the capabilities to help themselves?

“I think you won’t be anything like them, and they will find it unsettling,” he said to Roy softly, arm stretched out on the back of the couch, fingers hovered above that right shoulder.

“They will try to fix you, Roy, but why the hell would you need to be fixed? They won’t see the way you see, and they won’t see that what you are right now is strong and beautiful.”

The green eyes darted at his hand for a second, before turned to his face. “But not you, huh?” the retort was dry and tart, but Jason knew he really could see.

“No, not me.”

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

It started to go from mildly annoying to outright irritating after the first ten minutes had passed. He was really starting to regret that he allowed the man to tag along or even notified the guy in the first place.

Perhaps he should just take care of it himself. He had thought about that, and although they had long since reconciled, there’s still a part of him just wanted to tell the man to stay the hell away; not exactly the part that was still young and touchy, since he wasn’t a teenager anymore, but the part that was protective, and had learnt too much about the man, that he knew it could only be so little chance that the man wouldn’t screw up when he’s actually facing the kid.

“ _How could you not know that,_ ” the kid had growled in wrath, once he had learned about the whole thing. “ _We’re partners, how could you not know I’ve been replaced--_ ”

It was his own voice that had been shouted out; though he wasn’t the target of his anger, some of the things the fifteen-year-old Roy had said had felt too much like a hammer knocking directly into his chest.

“How could you not know that?” he had spat out the exact same thing when he himself had discovered the truth. He was angry at that point, and he couldn’t help himself from wanting to lay the blame on someone; someone who should know from the beginning, someone who should be responsible. He couldn’t help himself but wanted the man to feel as guilty as he did.

The man had looked as devastating as he had wanted him to be.

“A whole fucking decade,” he had lowered his voice after regarding the man for a long moment, accusing in stoniness, “All those time I was being a screw up, I was actually screwing up someone else’s life. How the fuck would you not realize, that your own goddamn child has been replaced by an impostor.”

“You were missing—you-- _he_ —has been missing for three months,” the man had pleaded desperately, “after you—he--went away to chase the case. I didn’t think, I didn’t—I just glad you— _he_ —urgh--!” he let out a frustrated growl. “I just…I just glad my boy was okay.”

The man had stumbled and collapsed into a chair nearby, hands plucking his blond hair. “And you’re not an impostor, okay?” few seconds later, Ollie had said in a beseeching tone, hoping for him to understand. “You _are_ family, Roy. We’ve already been a family for all these years.”

And he couldn’t find it in himself to keep laying the blame on Ollie anymore; not just because of the words, but also because of the look on the man’s face, how utterly pathetic he had seemed.

It’s much easier to blame the man for screwing up, if he himself hadn’t known how easy for anyone to screw up on the path of parenthood, how easy to process the wrong move and believing it was right all along, or how easy to overlook things even they were right under your nose. There’s no instruction manual to tell you how to build things up so they could work out perfectly, no parental guide that was powerful enough, it could teach you to be the exact thing your children needed you to be. There's no promise that what you thought was best for your children wouldn’t just turn out to be a compete mistake, and that things wouldn't be broken at any second without you even knowing.

The only thing had convinced him that perhaps he hadn’t taken the wrong step yet, it’s the beautiful smile on his own daughter’s face, and it was barely enough to make him believe that he would never screw anything up in the future.

And the sad truth was, no matter how Ollie felt, no matter how much he really did love his children, some people just wasn’t cut out for being a parent.

“We need to find him,” he had said, but of course the man couldn’t even be helpful and positive when he should be.

All the information regarding to the old project the Light had made had been lost; if he hadn’t run into Vandal Savage, who had found out a way to restart the whole plan by himself and tried to regain the control of him, Roy probably would’ve lived his whole life without learning the truth.

It had been a decade since the real Speedy was gone; there’s only so little chances that the kid might still be alive. “He’s dead,” Ollie had said darkly, after Cyborg, who had been helping them to dig up all the information of the old Cadmus project, couldn’t find anything to prove to them otherwise.

“I have already stolen the kid’s life,” he had said to Ollie, when the man had headed to leave, “I’m not going to give up unless I see the boy’s body with my own two eyes.”

“Then you do what makes you feel better,” without turning back to face him, Ollie had replied in a stern tone, “And I’ll do what is necessary. Bringing him the justice he deserves.”

By the time he had finally had some lead about the kid’s location, Ollie had been on his way for revenge. No doubt he would’ve done something extremely stupid if Dinah and Hal hadn’t intercepted him in Metropolis, before he could actually do anything to Luthor.

While he needed the kid to be alive, even it’s just for his own guilty conscious, it probably would be easier for Ollie to believe the real Speedy was dead all those years ago. He hadn’t recognized that, not until he had brought the unconscious boy back to the Hall for medical treatment, and Ollie had seen the kid again at the sick-bay for the first time in a decade.

The horror on his face, when he had laid eyes on the young boy who was supposed to be his responsibility, when he had reckoned the truth, that while he had failed to be the father that a lonely teenager had needed, he had also abandon the same teenager—the one he had originally taken in, the one he had made a vow to the court he would’ve protected --in his cryogenic grave.

The man was always too arrogant to acknowledge his own failure; it was always too hard for a man like him to face the mistake he made. It wasn’t easy for him to admit that he had failed to be a father once, it must be horrifying for him now, to see the living boy—the living proof--and to think that all these years he had failed him too, by not recognize that the kid had been stolen and swapped, and therefore had left him to die.

Though in truth, it wasn’t Ollie to blame, especially not now, since Roy was the one who let Speedy sneak out of his apartment.

Roy really had thought about finding the kid on his own, considered how Ollie probably was the last person Speedy would want to see. But there’s only one place Speedy might’ve run off to, and it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have a extra pair of hands on this, and besides, he didn’t quite have the heart to take away the possibility that the two of them could’ve had another shot at each other, by being the one who found the kid again, when it should be the man who Speedy had used to trust with all his heart.

It was only easy to assume that Speedy was out for revenge, and for that he would need some equipment. All the storages Ollie had set up in Star City back when the time Speedy had been around was either destroyed or changed its location during all these years except one.

No doubt that the kid had been there, but by the time he and Ollie had arrived, the kid was gone, left only a bomb trap inside, which they had triggered by setting foot on the hidden storage.

They had run out just in time before the bomb blown up, Ollie had gotten a bit hysterical when he had watched the whole storage burnt.

“Well, lets take a picture and list it as an exhibit for the case, then the court shall finally pronounce me not allow to get anywhere near any children ever again, due to my incapability of not ruin their lives,” the man had exclaimed sharply in a despairing tone. “He hates me this much, he actually wants to blow me up.”

“Stop crying for your sorry ass, you big baby,” Roy had rolled his eyes. “You know damn well it won’t be able to kill you. And I’m sure he doesn’t hate you, alright? No matter what he said, Roy doesn’t really hate you.”

“How do you know,” that big crying baby with a goatee had mumbled.

“Because I didn’t,” Roy had let out a vague snort. “Not even when you kicked me out. And believe me, I tried.”

After that, they had taken a trip to Metropolis and barged into Luthor’s office.

It was more than just a bit understating to say that the meeting they'd had was unpleasant. The only thing that kept him from killing Luthor was that he couldn’t be locked up in jail when he should be home with Lian, but he couldn’t say for sure that would he find it in himself to intervene if Ollie actually went too far.

Despite how Luthor hadn’t quite seemed to be frightened by them, the bald guy did admit that Speedy had confronted him earlier that night before they had showed up.

“I think young Mr. Harper must be on his way to Gotham by now,” the bald guy had checked his watch then told them, looking way too comfortable for someone who had been nailed against the wall by an enraged Green Arrow.

It didn’t seem like he was lying, and he sure wouldn’t have done something as stupid as to kill someone who was a relative of one of the League members when he knew he would easily be listed as the prime suspect.

Roy had no idea why the hell Luthor would send the kid to Gotham, or what lie he had fed the kid to persuade him to go there; before he and Ollie could find out more, the police had showed up, because instead of calling for his private army, the damn corporate owner had called the authority on them.

They had gone to Dick for help once they had arrived at Gotham. Dick himself was busy with a case, but he had promised he would keep an eye on the street, and in the meantime, they could use the cave computer to run the facial check on all the public surveillance system inside the city.

He was sitting in front of the computer, running the check again and again, looking for anything useful, while Ollie kept pacing around impatiently, possibly was trying to drive him crazy.

“Sit your ass down, will you?” he grumbled tiredly, hugging his head with his hands.

Ollie stopped and turned to look at him.

“This is useless,” the man announced, “There’s no match we can find on the computer, let just get out there and search on our own.”

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t do that, because we totally should. But do you have any idea where he might be? Where the hell are we supposed to start, man? This city is a maze.”

Ollie stared at him gloomily, then started pacing again.

Roy groaned in frustration.

“What if he’s in trouble, Roy,” the man rumbled in a deep voice, “I can’t fail him again.”

Roy couldn’t help himself but snorted. “All of your ‘me, me, me’, when are you going to get your head out of your ass? Where is that enthusiasm when I said we should keep searching for the kid?” he spited with half a thought.

Ollie froze up instantly, looked like he just got sucker-punched real hard in the face. Roy took a glance at him.

“Look,” he started with a sigh. “I know you’re worry about Speedy, me too, so please sit down and try to think, where he might be, what he’s doing in here, what relation he has in this city.”

Finally, the blond man took a chair beside him and sat down.

There’s no doubt they would’ve gone out and doing the blind search eventually, he just needed some time for Ollie to calm down, and for himself to calm down too.

Although the kid wasn’t in his best condition, with his dominated arm had been removed, his capability of defending himself wasn’t really Roy’s biggest worry.

What the kid might do with himself, was what he truly afraid of.

If he had known anything about Roy Harper, then he would know that that was someone who was really good at making bad decision.

The last time he had felt abandon and completely out of place, he had ended up fell in with the wrong group and being a junkie. And he wasn’t even angry about anything at that point, not in the deep of his heart, and he certainly hadn’t woken up one day and found out his whole life had been living by somebody else for a decade.

 _Please don’t do anything stupid, Roy. Please don’t get yourself involved with any of the bad things._ Roy could only pray.

 

***

 

“Ready?”

“Just like how I was born.”

Although he couldn’t see the kid’s face from his position on the street, he could still hear the smirk coming through the communicator.

He hummed approvingly. “Confident, huh? I bet it’s a good look on you, little Red, definitely better than your constant sulky face.”

“I don’t have a sulky face. And I thought we agree you’d stop call me that,” the teen sounded displease.

“When do I agree to such a thing, and what’s wrong with the pet-name. The last time I checked, you are quite red from basically head to toe.”

“The ‘little’ part, clearly. Just because you are a monster truck of a guy, doesn’t mean I’m little,” Roy retorted with a snort. “I’m taking the shot.”

The window of the second floor had been broken by the time he made the announcement; undoubtedly, the bullet hit the guard who stood closest to the boss, disabled the guy and stirred up the bustle as they wanted.

“Relatively, you are,” Jason continued the conversation, staying at the other side of the street and kept watching.

Although he couldn’t quite see it, but it was easy to assume that the kid had crippled at least three men before someone at the second floor of the building returned the fire. The kid was a good shot and he really was speedy with the trigger (Roy hated it when he made the speedy pun).

Waited until a bunch of armed thugs had rushed out on the street and headed for the sniper’s position, he started to walk toward the building.

The jacket he wore on his armor suit was zipped up all the way to his throat, he strolled past those thugs with his helmet-free face, didn’t care if any of them would take a look at him; he had a trucker hat on his head and he had already been concealed his face with the make up.

No one bother to give him any attention, the way he walked made him appear to be smaller, less threatening even with his height.

There were a few thugs standing guard at the back entrance, he shot down the two men who were facing his way once he had entered the back alley, only on the knees, since he wasn’t looking for a bloodbath tonight. The other three whipped their heads around when the bodies collapsed on the ground.

They were raising their weapons, but he was the one who already had his finger on the trigger, and he pulled it faster.

“What’s with you teenager and your desperate display of masculinity anyway, is that why you have the buzz-cut?” he said to Roy, after taking care of the three guys and entered the building.

The response came in a few seconds later. “No, it’s because _our_ hair was practically the same length when I woke up, and it’s weird to have the same haircut as _him_ ,” Roy explained matter-of-factly, with some thudding noises in the background.

It made sense. Jason replied with a simple hum.

“And I’m sure you should be the one to talk about desperate display of masculinity. You’re like a walking billboard, aren’t you? With your big bucket and all of your big guns.”

“It’s a helmet,” he corrected in dignification. “I’ll stop calling you little Red, if you’d start addressing my helmet as a helmet. And I can assure you that I never put on a display, my helmet and all of my guns are naturally big.”

He could hear the eye-roll came from the other end of the communicator along with the snort.

More thugs showed up with guns, when Jason was climbing up the stair. While he was taking care of them, he wasn’t sure what the teen was planning to do after he had drawn some of the men on the rooftop of the building across the street.

“Here’s the play,” he had said in the night before. “You draw some of them out and I get in, then you take care of them and join me.”

“What do I do with the thugs once I draw them out.”

“Who cares, do whatever you think is suitable,” it's the only instruction he had given to the teen.

Though Roy hadn’t showed any problem of following instruction so far, Jason figured he probably would like the liberty more than taking every step by someone else’s order; and if the tricky smirk he had given Jason in return was any proof, then he sure enjoyed making some decision himself.

He hadn’t even reminded Roy that they weren’t supposed to do any killing tonight, not in plan anyway. The kid didn’t seem to have an urge to kill anyone (except maybe Luthor, he supposed), not even had left any severe injury on any of the bad guys since they'd gotten together, except the first time Jason took him out for a test drive, that was.

It had been a week since he had met the kid at the warehouse.

He had fallen asleep on the couch during the second movie that he and Roy had been watching that night. When he had woken up the next day, the kid was gone.

It’s a pity alright, he really thought he and the kid might have something in common; though it wasn’t that big of a lost, since he wasn’t especially eager for a partner.

The concept of having a Robin for his Batman seemed nice, he had even babbled that during his last encounter with Grayson and Drake though merely was to taunt them. It’s fine that the kid had decided to leave, deep down, he was still pretty much a lone wolf anyway.

Jason had been pretty sure that the kid was going back to his counterpart or something, except awhile later, the kid had come back, drowning himself in an oversize hoodie which Jason had realized was his.

There’s a green trucker hat Roy had worn on his head, and there’re two cups of coffee and a bag of supply in each one of his hands.

“I borrowed your clothes,” the kid had said while putting down the shopping bag and the coffee.

“I see,” he had replied in a plain tone.

Since he hadn’t gotten a chance to freshen up the day before, the kid had also borrowed his shower, while Jason had been drinking the coffee and preparing some toasts. The coffee was black and strong, just the way he would enjoy it.

“My costume is a rag, do you know anywhere I can get myself a new one?” the kid had asked him, once he had taken a shower and changed into his new civilian clothing.

“Sure I do, I’m a native,” Jason had smirked.

They had gone out afterward and found someone who could make the kid a new suit. As it turned out, Roy didn’t want the remake of his old costume.

Apparently, the kid hadn’t done much sleeping the night before. He had spent some time putting up all those idea in his head and given the tailor a clear instruction; something entirely different than his sidekick costume, more tight-fitting than his old tunic, sleeveless with high collar, black and red instead of red and yellow.

After leaving the shop, they had gone to the part of the city that had been abandoned since the earthquake for safety reason; a junkyard where no one dared to go, so the kid could be free to test his new arm and all of its built-in function.

Though the material wasn’t especially heavy considered everything, the weight of the cybernetic arm was still heavier than Roy used to, which had unbalanced him at first and made his shooting a bit off, but the kid had adapted quickly and regained his touch.

It didn’t seem to Jason that the kid had any difficulty with his arm, but there’s a huge difference between firing at a fixed target and getting into a real fight.

“How do you feel,” Jason had said, after they had picked up the new suit the next evening, “Want to do some test drive?”

“I’ve already suited up, big guy. Just lead the way,” the redhead had tossed him a smirk.

They had started with something small; small yet still enough as a threat. A new street gang that had been terrorized the block where they had called their turf, squeezing money from decent shop owners and selling drugs to the kids.

Although none of them was a professional killer, they had enough manpower, and they were more than eager to fire their guns.

Everything had gone down smoothly, until the moment Roy had aimed his built-in laser at one of the gangsters.

A sudden surge of pang had risen up in the kid’s right arm, causing him to hiss, and his right hand had twitched involuntarily. The laser that was supposed to be on stun mode had cross-cut into the guy’s shoulder, probably would’ve cut through the bone and dismembered him if Roy hadn’t shut it down just in time.

The gangster had fallen down on the ground and shrilled in pain. “Crap,” the kid had cursed, rushing toward the guy and checked for the injury.

Jason hadn’t done anything but taken a glance at him.

Taken out the last thug, he had gone to the office of the abandoned building that the gang had taken it to run their business.

By the time he had opened the safe in the office, cleared the safe, put the ledger and all the stashed coke on the desk, he had figured the police he had notified was about to arrive.

“The medic could take care of it,” was all he had said regarding to the injured gangster after he had walked out the office.

The kid had followed him in silence, brows creased into a grave scowl with his mouth sealed tight; he didn’t say anything until they had made a stop at a rooftop.

“I should’ve taken some pills first,” he had dragged out through clenched teeth.

Jason had glimpsed at him, before gone back to survey the area. The gloominess of the gloomy green eyes had stabbed the side of his face.

“Don’t you want to say something?” Roy had pressed in a dour voice.

“What do you want me to say.”

“That I’ve spent my time in a damn pod for too long I shouldn’t be on the field so soon, that I should be more careful with my arm, that I’m not ready?”

“Seems to me you said it all.”

Jason had turned his gaze to the teen slowly and inspected him for a moment, wondering that did any of those thought had sneaked into the kid’s mind during the fight, and also wondering that did it really concern him if it did.

“I don’t know anything about your mentor, but that sounds like something my mentor would’ve said,” he had remarked halfheartedly after taking a brief thought.

Thinking the kid probably had mistaken something here, the corner of his lips had twisted up into a small sneer.

“I’m not my mentor, kid, and most importantly, I’m not _your_ mentor. I’m not looking for a ward, or an apprentice. I’m looking for someone who might help me clean up the city. You took down the criminals, that’s what I expect you to do, and that’s what you did. Though you’re right about the arm, because you should always be more careful with your own weapon, but as long as you’re not pointing any of your deadly weapons at me, then we’re good.”

It had gotten the tight little jaw of the kid to loosen up a little, but he had still had that shadowed expression on his face.

Jason had regarded him and said, “I don’t know shit about your body, it is your body and it is your arm. If you think you’re ready then I’ll take your word for it, and if you’re not, then now it’s the time you tell me.”

Gradually, Roy had looked up. “Yah,” he had said curtly, “I’m ready.”

“Good,” Jason had smiled under the hood. The teen twitched his lips slightly in return, as if he could sense it.

“And don’t beat yourself up for hurting the bad guys, it’s the occupational risk that comes with the career, and they are the one who chooses to do what they do,” he had told Roy easily.

The unseen smiled beneath the helmet had sharpened up a little.

“I have no idea how things in Star City, but in here, we have the crime rate that’s just simply incapable to drop down. How could such a thing be managed, you might wonder, when we have Batman and all the others running around. Sure they have handed thousands of criminal to the police during the years, how could it not change anything?”

He had made a short pause before given away the answer, though it wasn’t much of an answer but a simple fact.

“Because it doesn’t. Because that is the thing with our Gotham people, we are those stubborn-ass old-timers who never like to change. Everywhere you turn, there’s crime in this city, and it is since the beginning. Most of our baddies is just incapable to change, let alone redeem, unless they have to, unless someone has made it their only option. And even so, there’re still a large amount of them just simply couldn’t. You could defeat them all you want, but they always come back. All the worst ones do, they come back, they strike, and they ruin everybody’s life. There’s no stopping to that, not unless someone willing to put them to stop.”

The pair of green eyes had glinted faintly under the night while they were looking at Jason; Roy hadn’t made any response yet, but Jason could say for sure that he was listening.

A moment later, the teen had started, “Is that what you do? You stop the bad guys for good? Is that what you did in the warehouse?”

What had happened in the warehouse, that was a complete act of defense; he had killed quite a lot of Black Mask’s goons that night, but it was a fair fight, none of those guys would’ve hesitate to kill him and the kid if they had the chance.

He wasn’t wild enough to run around and kill every scum he found, he wasn’t going to give someone a penalty that wasn’t well earned; but he sure as hell wasn't going to increase any risks by being soft to the bad guys. “ _Hold off_ ,” Bruce had used to spit it into his face all the time, but every second he held off, it’s the second that he could use to save the people they’re supposed to save, and it also was the second that any of the bad guys could find a way to slip through their fingers while they’re too busy pulling their punches.

The kid hadn’t said anything confirmative about his offer, whether was it just a trial run or had Roy really decided to join him, Jason wasn’t sure, wasn’t even sure was it important actually.

Partnership was a fragile thing that had been prettified too often; the teen could stay as long as he wanted, and he could leave any second he wanted. But if he’s really going to stay, then there would be enough time for him to understand.

The kid had a pair of keen eyes, he shall see.

Having no rush to explain anything, Jason had ignored the question and reached his hand into the pouch of his utility belt. “Here,” he had tossed a roll of cash into the kid’s hand.

“It’s your share.”

Roy had glanced at the cash, then stared at him.

“You robbed the gang,” the kid had creased his brows in uncertainty. Jason had let out a huff of a laugh.

“We busted the gang, little Red, and I confiscated the money,” he had clarified in a reasonable tone. “There’s no way any of these money would ever come back to the hand of its rightful owner, we might as well put it into somewhere useful.”

The teen had still looked at him dubiously.

“Crime fighting doesn’t come cheap, and not all of us are a billionaire.”

Roy had puffed out a small snort, but didn’t seem exactly disapproving. “To rob the dirty rich to help the poor, huh?” he had said thoughtfully.

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, not really. Not that I never steal when I was poor,” the kid had said, then flashed Jason a lopsided smirk, “It makes more sense, come to think about it. With you having a Hood in your code-name when you in fact aren’t wearing one.”

“Such a little ass,” Jason had shook his head and let out a feigned sigh.

The gang leader he was looking for had fled from his office and retreated into his bedroom. Jason caught up on him as the moment he opened a hidden storage behind the bedroom wall and heaved up a machine gun in his hands.

Jason slid through the floor while the guy was firing, took a tight hold on his arm, disarmed the gun and landed a hard punch in his nose.

There’s a big, beautiful fish tank in the room; Roy arrived at the room, when Jason was shoving the gang leader’s head deep inside the tank.

“Come on, Sonny, give me something,” he asked, the guy struggled frantically under Jason’s hand, but unable to move an inch toward the surface.

“Isn't he suppose to be—I don’t know, breathing? To answer?” Roy stated incisively by the door, tossing the red helmet he was carrying to Jason while he walked toward them.

“Oh,” Jason caught the helmet with his spare hand, and looked down at the guy as though he was surprised, “My bad.” He yanked the guy up, letting the gang leader fall down on the floor.

Sonny inhaled as much air as he could, scrabbled about on the slippery floor for a moment before he could crawl up and lean against the cabinet beneath the fish tank.

“Now you’re breathing, what about my answer?” Jason started again, pulled off the trucker hat he had been worn as a part of the disguise, left it onto Roy’s head and put on his own helmet.

“Oh fuck, it’s you,” the gang leader gaped. Since Jason hadn’t been wearing the helmet when he came in, the guy had simply assumed that he was someone who hired by one of his competition.

It's more peaceful this way, putting up some smoke screen, otherwise, he might have to kill a lot of people on his way in, and it surely would draw a lot of attention.

Although old Sonny boy here hardly could be reckoned as one of the kingpins, the man did have a huge amount of guard dogs, and his back and his legs hadn't been fully recovered yet.

“Yes, it is me,” Jason responded with a mocking nod. “Now, about Black Mask.”

“You keep asking me about Black Mask, but I don’t know nothing, I don’t even know he’s back, I don’t even know which one you’re talking about,” Sonny looked at him innocently with a pair of widened eyes.

“The one you used to run business with, Sonny boy. Are we really going to do this? You, lying to me, to my face? You and I both know Black Mask is back, and it’s easy to assume that he’d make contact with some of his old business partners.”

“Black Mask didn’t contact me. And if he did, what makes you think I’d tell you anything?”

“Because you’re a smart boy, Sonny. You know what’s best for you, which means, you will tell me everything.”

“Or what, you kill me?” the man phrased it as though he wasn’t a bit scare, while Jason knew he was in fact terrified.

“Of course I won’t, you are those—well, not exactly someone who has a code of honor, but you do understand the rule, you don’t prey on kids and you’re smart about killing innocent people. That’s why you’re alive and working for me back in the days, when I’m the one who runs things. Don’t you remember?”

“So he’s run business with criminals before,” Roy mumbled from behind, “why am I not surprise.”

Before he could decide whether to ignore the remark or reply, Sonny was saying, “You know Black Mask, you know I can’t tell you shit.”

It sounded like the man did know about something, not that he had any doubt about that. “Guess I have to get it out of you then,” Jason uttered casually, then started wrecking the man’s face with his fists.

Roy was watching from behind, arms folded up, with a small frown on his face. The expression he was wearing didn’t exactly seem disapproving, Jason took a note on that when he took a glimpse at the teen.

He offered with a hidden smile, “If you’re bored, you can come here and take over.”

Roy tipped his head aside, looking slightly thoughtful.

“Aren’t we supposed to be some kind of good cop/bad cop?”

“Well, I don’t see you playing the part by asking him nicely to see if the mister here would want a band-aid or a glass of water,” Jason brought the man up by his soaking wet collar while he was saying. Roy glanced at the gang leader who had some nasty bruises on his wet face.

“Come on, Red, I know you want to,” Jason induced him in a soft tone.

Although Roy rolled his eyes in response, he did unfold his arms and walk toward them hesitantly, crouched in front of the gang leader once Jason was stepping aside.

Sonny was confused. “You think a kid can scare me?” he turned his bruised eyes away from the teen and regarding Jason in disbelief.

“No,” Jason replied curtly, without glimpsed at the man, eyes locking with Roy who had turned his head to him. “I think my partner here can break you.”

Roy gazed at him for a moment longer, before turned his attention to the gang leader.

The cybernetic arm heaved up slowly.

“Ugh!” a pained croak coughed out of the man’s mouth, as the fist slammed hard into his stomach.

The punch was hard and heavy; Roy lifted his arm again, with more determination this time. He hit the man harder and heavier, in the face, in the stomach.

While Roy was wrecking the gang leader with his cold, solid fist, gnashing his teeth in a mix of exhilaration and antipathy, Jason was standing beside him and watched him fondly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> I have more fun with the Roy & Ollie thing than I thought.


	4. Chapter 4

To his own credit, the kid didn’t cut in and run his sharp mouth before they’re alone at their usual lookout spot.

Although he would like to think that it was because they’re starting to have some progress, that the kid had developed some patience which had gotten him better at holding his tongue, or even respect him enough to allow him to handle the conversation, but the brat had probably just kept his mouth shut because he didn’t trust the commissioner the way they did, and he would just rather loom in the shadow and look ominous.

“We should take care of it,” the way the kid spoke made it sound like it was a command more than just a suggestion.

He responded it with an abstracted hum while he was pondering.

The kid glared at him impatiently. “Batman,” he pressed.

“I hear you,” Dick said. “I’m just not sure what you’re talking about.”

The kid clicked his tongue. “Don’t pretend to be ignorant, you are already ignorant enough without the facade.”

That’s so much for respect. Dick let out a dry snort but didn’t feel nearly as annoyed as he would be awhile ago.

The kid was vicious, and pompous, a real pain in the ass that wouldn’t hesitate to strike where it hurt, whether it was physically or verbally. For he was a bigger man, he had no problem to admit that the little crown price of Assholenia had started to grow on him, though sometimes, not even himself was quite sure why.

“You heard Gordon,” Damian continued, face darker than his natural skin color and biting his teeth a little. “Red Hood is back in town and we cannot allow that lunatic running around.”

Dick inspected him for a moment.

The kid was angry, which was totally understandable, considered the last time they had met, Jason had put a bullet in him and almost killed the kid; he was angry himself, and he wanted to bring Jason down as much as Damian did, though definitely not in the way that Damian would’ve preferred. But he couldn’t afford to be reckless here, he already had a kid partner that was reckless enough, he had to take the responsibility and hold himself to be sensible.

Right now, things in Gotham weren’t as riotous as the time when every criminal had realized that Batman was gone. The order was starting to restore once he had decided to put on the cowl, but even with everything kind of turning back to normal, there’re still too many problems for everyone to handle.

The shootout at the wasted warehouse for one, that seemed to be trouble enough; when the police and the fire department had caught the news and gotten there, the warehouse had still been burning from the earlier explosion.

The commissioner had notified him once the fire had been put out and the police had started to work, it seemed like there had been some sort of gang fight, a lot of people had been killed at the scene before the big explosion happened. Though Gordon hadn’t called him in because of the dead rate, but for the ammunition they had found inside.

The weapons he had seen before the police had loaded them away weren’t the common stuff, but some high-edge product that promised to cause serious trouble in the city.

If any of those stuff had gotten into the street that would easily turn Gotham into a war zone. All the dead bodies that the police had identified had been former gangsters, some members of the old False Face Society, some from other different groups. The police had been unable to link them to anyone, and there’s no trace they could find in the warehouse.

“Whoever was in possession of that shipment is up to no good. Bullock’s just saying to me that he’s glad that whatever happened in that place has happened, I’m not saying I agree, but if that warehouse hasn’t been compromised, we might find ourselves in a war by now,” the commissioner had told Dick when he was giving Dick an update of the case.

“Are we sure that’s a gang fight in there?” Dick had asked thoughtfully, something about the scene, the way those men died had left a strange feeling in his guts.

“We aren’t sure about anything,” the commissioner said, “there’s no witness and the scene is basically a wreckage, there’s nothing we can find out so far.”

Dick had nodded in acknowledgment. “We should keep an eye on this,” he had said, and he would’ve found out more about this himself, if he and Damian hadn’t been occupied by the murder case that they had been working on along with everything else.

It was clear to them that the murderer they had been chasing was Victor Zsasz, since the psychopath had escaped from Arkham only awhile ago before the murders emerged.

He and Damian had just met with the commissioner in the morgue. Dick had read the report of the newest murder that no doubt it was Zsasz’s handiwork, and checked the body himself. Before he and Damian had left to work, the commissioner had informed him about something else.

Something about a street gang that had been disintegrated by someone; all of the gangsters were well beaten and knocked into unconsciousness before they had gotten arrested, some of them needed a really long time in the hospital, but there’s no dead body.

According to those guys, the man who had attacked them was a “costume freak”, one who was tall and thickset, a black cape on his gray armor suit, a red helmet on his head.

Jason was back, and he apparently hadn’t been alone when he had taken down the gang.

There’s someone else with him; someone smaller, a teenage boy who had some sort of robotic arm, that had nearly dismembered one of the gangsters with its laser weapon.

The last time he had confronted Jason, it was all fight to death, though he had never believed Jason would die from the fall, he also didn’t think that the guy would resurface so soon.

He didn’t know what Jason was planning to do this time. The way he had taken down the street gang didn’t seem as drastic as before, and there’s no sign he had left behind to ensure he could draw anyone’s attention.

No doubt that the return of Red Hood was unsettling, but at the moment, it wasn’t Dick’s biggest concern.

“There’s a kid with him,” Dick stated slowly, brows creased together in thought.

“So?”

“So, isn’t this struck you weird?”

The kid was squatting beside him at the belfry, and although the tall difference wasn’t as blatant as they’re standing, Dick had still pretty much towered over him, and yet, the kid tipped his head in a way that could somehow make him seem to be looking down at Dick.

Damian retorted indifferently, “What is so unusual that Todd has found himself some sort of sidekick? He has abused the mantle before, he probably just wanted to get himself a knockoff Robin for his knockoff Batman, to compete his circus act.”

“Don’t bring circus into a trash talk, it’s offensive,” Dick chided the kid with half a mind.

“To whom.”

“Me,” he said reasonably, and got an excessive eye-roll in return.

“Don’t you remember why Green Arrow and Red Arrow are here?” he reminded, trying to show Damian the problem. Damian squinted his eyes.

“You think Todd has Green Arrow’s sidekick?”

“The timing seems right. The kid who was with Jason has an artificial arm, which could be assumed that there’s something wrong with his real arm. And the gangsters said that the kid was in a red costume and has ginger hair.”

“But why, what’s the purpose? What could Todd gain from associated with Green Arrow’s sidekick?”

“We don’t know do they have any association, if that really is Speedy, maybe the two of them just run into each other by accident.”

Damian crossed his arm while he was thinking. “Or maybe Todd captured him.”

“For what?”

“Leverage?” the kid supplied simply. “If Red Hood somehow find out the kid’s identity, then perhaps he thinks he could use him to prey on your sentimental side, makes you turn yourself over in exchange for the Arrow’s kid.”

He cast a look at Dick and smirked. “Since you are an idiot, I bet it would work like a wonder.”

“New rule,” Dick announced abstractedly while he was weighing the possibility, “no calling me an idiot at work. What if the bad guys hear you, it’s bad for the reputation.”

“You just make a ‘new rule’ yesterday,” the little snot glared at him. “You cannot just keep making rules and forbid me to do or say something all the times. For the last time, you are not my commander.”

The kid was growling slightly in annoyance, cheeks all puffed out and reddened; a perfect portrait of a spoiled little prince who was told that he couldn’t have another ice cream.

Dick could hardly hold a strict face. “For the last time, I am Batman, and you are Robin. And you have to follow my lead,” he told the kid calmly. Damian scoffed at him.

“What if I don’t. Are you going to ground me if I keep calling you an idiot on the field?”

“No, but I will tell Alfred to cut down your cookie supply. I think you have too much sugar a day anyway. Maybe you would be more at ease without all the sugar rush.”

Damian scowled at him for a moment, before started cautiously, “You’re bluffing.”

Maybe. His mouth curled up into a crook smirk. “Try me,” he said, before went back on topic.

He thought for a moment about what Damian had said. Sure Jason had done a lot of nasty stuff, and the stunt he had pulled last time was definitely a new low; but child kidnapping? That didn’t sound like something he would do.

He hoped he could say that it’s because such an act was too out of line even for Jason, but the guy was pretty much out of his mind the last time he saw him.

Was there still a line somewhere in Jason’s head? He honestly wasn’t sure. All he knew was that the guy was arrogant, always had been since he was a kid, and he had good reason to be.

That’s probably why, came to think about it, that he couldn’t bring himself to be warmth and supportive to the guy the way he had been to Tim. The confidence he had, the pure talent he showed, when he was wearing that costume, the one that was Dick’s design.

He was too young at that point, he couldn’t get past his own wounded feeling and bring himself to understand that how important it was to Bruce, how the man had needed someone to balance him, to save him from lost his way into the darkness by having some light in his life, to bear the responsibility so he would have no choice but think better about his own action.

All he could see was how adequate the younger boy was with his costume, how easily he could be replaced. Although he was the one who gave up the suit, he had never thought Bruce would just give it to someone else, without even talk to him first, and the fact that Jason was cocky as hell even if he did act nice and respectful just hadn’t helped at all.

He wondered would it be any different, if he could be a good big brother for Jason when he was Robin, instead of just being a child.

The guy probably wouldn’t be so eager to kill him if he did. Dick thought sourly.

Maybe if someone would just talk to Jason back then, or offer him some help, then there would be no Red Hood situation for them to worry about right now.

Bruce had tried to fix it, but it was too late; the effort he had tried to make by leaving that video to Jason had gotten backfire, and he hadn’t handled it better, though it wasn’t like there’s anything better he could do.

The wound was too deep, Jason wouldn’t bring himself to face the real problem, so Bruce did, by thrust a knife into the wound and cut it open, forcing Jason to face the fact that he needed help.

But the pain had only enraged the guy and made him strike back harder, he would rather die than admit the truth and let anyone help him.

And if the guy was too stubborn and too proud to accept help from anyone, Dick really doubted he would disgrace himself by using a kid to gain the advantage.

“Kidnapping doesn’t seem like his usual M.O.,” Dick said, “And besides, if he captured Speedy and wants to make some sort of exchange, we sure would’ve heard from him by now.”

Damian hummed in response.

“Doesn’t matter,” he pronounced carelessly, after taking a brief thought. “Just tell the Arrows about the kid, and let them worry about it. If Red Hood has the kid in hand, then the Arrows could take care their own child, while you and I just focus on taking down Todd.”

“No, lets not tell them yet. We don’t actually know about anything.”

“You are saying we should withhold the information from the Arrows?” The kid gave him an assessing look, “Aren’t you supposed to bring the news back to your so-called friend once you found out anything?”

“Not until we at least figured out does Jason really have the kid with him or not. I don’t want to worry them with nothing, and we certainly don’t want a pair of angry Arrows running around the street and hunting for information.”

“Humph,” the kid crossed his arms and pondered for a moment. “Is that what my father would do?” he sounded slightly different, a bit hesitated.

Perhaps it was only in his head, but he did think the kid seemed woeful.

“Yah, unfortunately,” Dick answered in a soft tone, put his hand on the kid’s head, and got brushed off a second longer than usual.

Damian clicked his tongue in grouch, pulled the hood over his head to block off any sorts of affection attack.

“Why is that unfortunate?” he retorted, “I think it’s more reasonable than most of the things you do, sealed the information so the other wouldn’t get in the way. I would easily choose to make the same decision myself.”

“And I rest my case,” Dick replied easily with a smirk, but added a few seconds later when Damian was giving him the stink eye, “Sometimes we have to do what is necessary, and normally, it would upset a lot of people, because it isn’t a nice thing to do.”

The brat snorted.

“Who cares what the others think,” he said with his round little nose held up high. “We don’t need to be nice when we are right.”

“Well, if you mean ‘we’, like some obnoxious emotional-constipation tyrants who don’t care about other people’s feeling, then sure,” Dick grinned a little. The kid clicked his tongue again and shot him an emotional-constipation look.

What Dick was doing right now was far from easy, most of the time he felt like he was bound to do thing in a way he really didn’t like, including lying to his friends. Although it wouldn’t be the first time, but now he was doing it because he was Batman, and everything always felt heavier with a cape on his back.

He couldn’t say exactly why, but the fact that the brat was here as his partner had lessened some of the weight.

Seeing how Damian just couldn’t understand all the simple things when he should, it’s a pain all right, but it didn’t feel so much as a vexation once Dick had realized, that with some help, then the kid could see.

Batman could help the kid with his training, taught him about discipline and stuff, but there’re more important things the kid should learn, things that couldn’t be taught by Batman, but only by him.

He was always afraid that he would be lost in the cowl, but how could Dick Grayson be lost, if there’s still so much he had to show? If he was still needed?

“Come on, we still have a case to work on,” he nudged the kid with his elbow. The kid scowled at him in confusion.

“What do you mean? Aren’t we supposed to track down Todd?”

“Not now, now Zsasz is still the top priority.”

Jason was dangerous, but unlike Zsasz, he wasn't a danger to all the innocent people out there.

And if the guy--for whatever reason--really had Speedy with him, the last thing Dick wanted was to provoke the guy incautiously and put the poor kid in danger.

Although, if Speedy really was with Jason, then sure he’s in enough danger already.

 

***

 

He ordered a drink before took a seat next to the kid. The kid cranked his neck at him, mouth broke into a big grin, which caused him to raise an eyebrow.

“What are you grinning for?” he asked curiously, and the kid chuckled, making his eyebrow raised up even further.

Leaning the side of his body against the bar table, Roy didn’t answer but questioned instead, “How’s the talk with the flat-feet.”

“Good, got the location of the show tomorrow night,” he said.

As he had thought, Sonny had broken and told them everything he knew after Roy had roughed him up enough.

Since Black Mask only wanted a share of Sonny’s profit, he didn’t tell the guy much about his own plan, let alone give the guy the address of his hideout; the information they got wasn’t much, but it was worth to chase.

Apparently, Black Mask did regained contact with some of his old business partner, all the small ones who didn’t require much to overpower.

Sionis was taking things slow, extending his power step by step, instead of heading for the big shots and take everyone down by force; undoubtedly, it was because the ammunition he had prepared for the attack was lost, along with a great amount of manpower, all thanks to Jason and a little redhead who just had an itch for blowing things up.

“According to the police report I dug up, most of the weapons were damaged in the explosion, if it wasn’t for it, there’s a good chance Sionis might’ve arranged a robbery at the property room and take everything back from the police. Those shit he brought from Luthor definitely cost a fortune, I bet his heart is bleeding for the lost,” he had said to Roy while they’re discussing the whole thing.

Roy had hummed thoughtfully, before he had said, “If neither of you have showed up that night, I would’ve still blown everything up, you know, after I’ve picked something for myself besides the arm. Who knows where are all the dangerous things Luthor and his lapdogs have designed would end up to, if I just call the police and leave it.”

“And you wonder why I want you to join me,” Jason had remarked easily. The kid hadn’t said anything to that, only his mouth had twitched slightly into a smirk.

If Sionis wanted to make a big move, bring down all the kingpins and take over the street, he might need to rise up his fund to get another batch of weapon.

Besides the small profit he was gaining from doing business with middle class like Sonny, he seemed to have invested in some show business, some real life horror performance that hosted underground, to entertain all the sick rich in this city.

He couldn’t find out more of it from Sonny, because the guy didn’t know shit, so he had gone to someone who dealt with the sick rich everyday, thinking Ozzy probably had heard something from his customers.

The chubby man with a tuxedo and a monocle didn’t seem happy when he had come out of his office and met them in his club. He had grouched while giving Jason a dirty look, “It’s not the end of the month, Red Hood, I hope you’re not here to collect the money. I’m not your piggy bank.”

“You sure look like one,” Jason had smirked. “But no, Ozzy, I’m not here for the money, I’m here for a chat.”

He and Roy didn’t dress in their work suit, because it was part of the deal he had made with the shorty. “Don’t ever dressing as Red Hood when you walk into my club, I don’t want you to frighten the customers,” Cobblepot had declared strongly before they had sealed the deal, and he had agreed.

It’s not like he couldn’t cause any damage without the costume anyway; he still could’ve sneaked into Ozzy’s office dressing in his work suit, but he actually preferred walk through the front door.

Ozzy always seemed more upset when he did that, if he had to choose, he probably would rather have Batman sneak up on him in his own bedroom, than have Red Hood hanging in his precious club among his precious customers.

For a man who was high-status and had many connections like Ozzy, all Batman could do was throw some inane threat at his face, as long as the Bats still wanted to be friend with the GCPD, there’re certain rules he could never cross, and those rules had kept criminal like the Penguin safe from him; while Jason could just easily trash his property and shoot some of his filthy rich customers, or maybe just put a bullet in the chubby bird if there’s something he did that Jason didn’t like.

The deal he had made with Cobblepot ensured him a steady income, and it really was a fair deal; a small part of the fat guy’s profit in exchange for peace. “You’d let go of a criminal in exchange for money?” Roy had inspected him with a pair of keen eyes when he had explained his relationship with the Penguin.

“People like Cobblepot know his way around the law, even you could gather enough evidence to put him in jail, he would just easily buy his way out, there’s only one way to take him down, but once you take him out of the picture, someone else would just come out and take the seat. Believe it or not, Ozzy really is a gentleman compare to a lot of things. You wouldn’t want to know what happens if freaks like Two-Face or Black Mask has taken everything over.”

A necessary evil, that’s what Cobblepot was. Jason never had an interest of killing him, he had stated clearly when he had made terms with the Penguin, “But if you don’t want to accept the deal, then perhaps I should just take you out and find someone else who would. Maybe one of your staffs, they probably have learnt a lot about how to run the business from you, and I’m sure they wouldn’t mind a promotion.”

So Ozzy, a smart business man, had accepted it, and it’s not just for his own safety; sometimes he fed information to Jason, some illegal trades of his competitions, some new business on the street that might’ve proved to be a problem to him, some words he heard that he found unsettling, hence this whole Black Mask thing.

He and Roy were wearing a suit above the armor; like every time Jason visited the club without a helmet, his face was concealed, still wearing the same make up he put on when he had gone to Sonny, while Roy just put a sunglasses on his face.

Cobblepot had taken a look at the kid who was wearing a blank expression. “Why do you bring a minor into my club?” he had queried Jason with his pipe pointed at Roy.

“Legally, he’s not a minor. His ID card said he’s older than me,” Jason had replied. Cobblepot had looked at them suspiciously, but clearly had seen enough weird things himself, he didn’t bother to say anything.

Jason had left Roy at the bar, while he followed Cobblepot into his private office. “Don’t harass any of my customers,” the owner of the nightclub had warned the kid before leaving. Roy had glanced at him boringly in return.

Although Jason doubted the man would break the deal and lead him into a trap, he never came into this place without insurance, and right now, Roy was his insurance, holding the front of the Iceberg as hostage incase anything go wrong.

He hadn’t told the Penguin much, just enough to make Ozzy realize it was important, so he would make a few phone calls for him.

When he had gotten what he wanted and walked out the office, he had expected Roy might’ve been bored sitting at the bar by now, not greeted him with a grin he had never seen.

He watched the kid in curiosity, while filling him up with the information he had learned from the Penguin.

Roy nodded solemnly once he had finished.

“Does that place have a dress-code?” the kid scrunched his eyebrows and asked in a thoughtful tone.

“Do we have to wear a suit to get into the show tomorrow? ‘Cause I hate wearing suit. Like this one,” he tugged at his suit jacket, “I hate this one. It’s black, Hood. Maybe I should get myself a red one, I think red is better.”

Jason let out a humorous hum, reaching for the double shot of Whiskey he had ordered and took a swig.

“You’re drunk,” he pointed out after putting the glass down. There’s another glass on Roy’s side of the table, some colorful stuff with a tiny umbrella on top. It was half empty.

“Is it your first time to have a drink, or are you just a lightweight,” assuming it was the first drink Roy had since he had left him at the bar, Jason regarded the drink and asked.

The kid leaned toward him and squinted his eyes, hand reaching out to press firmly onto Jason’s chest with a finger. “I’m no lightweight, big guy, I drink since I was a kid.”

“You are a kid.”

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say. The look on Roy’s face turned sour almost immediately. Hand dropped from Jason’s chest, he went to pick up his own drink, taking a long draw with the straw.

Jason wondered what he was thinking. Did he think about the other Roy Harper? Think about what he could be right now if he hadn’t been frozen for a decade?

Seeing the grim expression on his face, it was positive that he did.

The breezy grin Roy had presented a moment ago was new to Jason, all blithe and childish. He kind of missed it.

“Save your sulky face for the morning, little Red,” he took a sip of his own Whiskey and said, looking at the redhead with a smile, “What could I do to put you back into your seldom good mood.”

Still sucking the straw in his glass, Roy met his gaze under the sunglasses he was wearing. “Buy me another,” he said crispy after finished the drink. “Never have this kind of fancy stuff before, taste good.”

“It’s not your first drink tonight, isn’t it?” Jason reckoned, lifting his hand to signal the bartender for another drink.

“I might've had a few when I was waiting for you,” Roy replied with a shrug. “Like two, or three, or four, if we counted this one.”

“How is that even possible,” Jason quirked an eyebrow, both puzzled and amused. “I was only leaving you like fifteen minutes.”

“I was thirsty,” Roy flicked him a small grin, pulled the drink toward himself once the bartender had brought it up to him.

Perhaps he shouldn’t indulge a kid like that, but the tropical cocktail did seem to satisfy the kid, and what the difference did it make, whether he was poisoning a minor or not, he would still go to hell anyway.

At least the little redhead seemed to be a happy drunk. He thought while drinking with the kid, before he remembered it didn’t really concern him if Roy was a happy drunk or a mean drunk or a pathetic drunk.

They headed back to the base after finished up the drink. The bike they rode to the Iceberg had been hidden inside an alley.

By the time he had driven the bike into the secret garage above the tunnel, the kid had closed his eyes peacefully, leaning against Jason’s back with his arms looping firmly around his waist.

Roy was asleep, which wasn’t something he did often.

Jason wouldn’t say he had a good sleeping habit himself, rarely had a dreamless night, some of those dream he had were all vague and undistinguished, some of those would jerk him awake and make him want to hit things; but he slept like a baby, compared to Roy, who basically just never closed his eyes at all.

He didn’t think the kid had ever slept over three hours a day, always sitting in front of the computer (“ _There’re a lot of stuff I have to catch up,_ ” he had told Jason) or surrounded himself with a pile of books while he opened his arm discreetly to learn about its mechanism (“ _I want to be able to fix it if there’s a malfunction._ ”).

He seemed genuinely interested in whatever he was doing instead of sleeping, he could hold up for forty-eight hours straight, only dozed off on the couch when he was completely exhausted, and chucked a gallon of coffee once he awoke.

Jason unwrapped the arms carefully, steadied the kid by keeping an arm on his shoulder while getting off the bike.

Evidently, Roy was clingy when he was drunk; he hugged Jason tightly the moment he was raised up from the bike, buried his face into the crook of Jason’s neck.

Having no choice but abandoned his original plan, which was hoist the kid over his shoulder, Jason took up the teen lightly and carried him into the tunnel.

He put Roy down to the couch once he entered the base, removed the arms around his neck, then went to change his clothing.

Though he wasn’t going to undress the kid, he figured he should at least take off the suit jacket for him, save the poor jacket from becoming a rumpled mess.

He left his room with a tank top and a pair of loose pants, surprised to see that Roy had already taken off the suit, peeled off the red armor underneath and started to change into something more comfortable.

Since the possibility of taking up some sort of roommate had never crossed Jason’s mind when he set up his operational base, there’s no spare room in here. Roy had been taking up the couch this whole time; the couch was big enough for him and he hadn’t said anything about the arrangement, seemed quite content to live without a bed, clearly it’s because he wasn’t going to spend time with it even if he had one.

The sleepiness was gone, after the kid finished changing and brushed his teeth. Roy went back onto the couch, sat with his knees drew up, opened the TV and stared at it with a tired face.

“I thought you’re sleepy,” Jason stood beside the couch and inspected him.

“No,” Roy said while muffled down a yawn. “Don’t want to sleep. I want to see what’s on the TV.”

Jason snorted, considered for a second before walked around the couch, turned off the TV and hoisted the teen up over his shoulder.

“What the—”The teen was startled, eyes widened in confusion. “Hey, put me down! You stupid bucket-head!” he twisted his head around and growled from behind.

Jason warned unaffectedly, “Careful with your mouth or you might hurt my feeling.”

A hand kept lapping against his back to draw his attention, he ignored it, using both of his hands to hold the legs tight, so the teen wouldn’t kick him in the chest and scrambled off.

Roy didn’t use the cybernetic arm to attack his back, which he appreciated. The claw mark he had gotten from Sionis’s guy was actually worse than the bullet wound he had gotten from Sionis; though none of those were bad enough to put him off duty, it did make him ease off a little during the week. His back had just gotten healed up, it would be better if Roy didn’t try to injure it with his metal fist.

The room was dark, he didn’t bother to put on the light.

The kid jumped up the second Jason tossed him down on the bed. “Sleep,” Jason demanded curtly, throw the sheet over his head, hand pressed into his chest and forced him down into the mattress.

He crawled onto the other side of the bed; the teen scrabbled about under the sheet, twisting and turning wildly like a cat in the sack.

A few seconds later, the carroty head poked out of the sheet. Roy tried to bounce up again but a heavy arm over his middle limited his movement.

“Do I have to drug you to put you down?” Jason said with a sigh.

Roy turned around slowly. There’s not much he could see under the darkness of the room, but it was easy to imagine the frown on the kid’s face.

The pair of green eyes glinted faintly in alarm and puzzlement. “Why are we sleeping together.”

“Because we have work tomorrow, Roy, and you need to sleep. So shut up and sleep.”

“I can sleep on the couch.”

“You would just try to keep yourself up all night,” Jason simply replied. The stubborn teenager glared at him in silence.

Jason was just about to close his eyes and turn to sleep, when Roy started in a small voice, “I couldn’t…I don’t want to sleep.” He hesitated for a brief moment. “What if I don’t wake up this time.”

It’s a good thing that the room was dark; whatever expression on the teen’s face was cloaked. There’s nothing except those eyes, and they were enough to murder a bleeding heart.

“Then I’ll wake you up,” he told the kid in a whisper, meeting the glazed eyes in the uncertain darkness.

Slow and hesitantly, the eyes fluttered shut. A head shuffled closer and propped against his chest tentatively, the mechanical hand closed its grip on the middle of Jason’s clothes.

The body was strangely cold, he thought for a second before pulled the kid closer, remembered how Roy had said about “hate getting cold”.

 

***

 

It seemed that Sionis had brought Victor Zsasz to his side, putting the psychopathic killer in charge of the whole entertainment business he had secretly set up.

An old-fashion gladiatorial show that had gotten all the sick rich of Gotham paid good fortune to see; while Sionis just hid in the shadow and counted the money, Zsasz and his henchmen had abducted some homeless people on the street, bringing all the tramps and street kid into the arena and made them fight to the death. The survivor would be put against Zsasz himself in the final, and the outcome was guaranteed.

He and Roy had broken in to the backstage before the show started, the first homeless people they had freed from the cage had told them about the performance.

If what he had heard hadn’t made Roy sick to his stomach, then the sight of a kid—a real kid, only half his own age—shaking and sobbing in one of those cages surely had done it.

The teen pulled the kid out the cage, calming the little thing with a hug. The look on Roy’s face made it clear that right now Luthor wasn’t the only one he might have an interest to kill.

Zsasz wasn’t going to survive tonight, Jason didn’t speak it out loud but it was promised.

He left Roy alone to keep freeing those people, while he went for Zsasz himself.

Back when he was Robin, he had fought the sicko a couple of times; as far as he remembered, Zsasz’s fighting style was odd, odd but splendid. There’s no pattern in his movement, every strike he made seemed to be thoughtless, swinging the knife in his hand as though it was part of his body.

The guy was a master with knife, but unfortunate for him, Jason fought with something much more efficient than knife.

The henchmen around Zsasz fired their weapons once they had spotted him. He took down those guys, then crippled the psycho with a bullet before he could slip away.

Zsasz stumbled down to the ground, crawled away invalidly when Jason headed toward him.

He wasn’t going to kill him yet, still needed to find out Black Mask’s location.

The sicko turned around abruptly, as the instant Jason had gotten next to him. The butt of the gun clubbed Zsasz’s head just before he could’ve severed Jason’s leg with his knife.

While the psycho was still dizzy with pain, Jason took away his knife and thrust it into his dominated hand. A sharp cry rang through the arena.

“Where’s you sponsor, Vic,” Jason asked him, twisted the knife around to extend the wound, “Where’s Black Mask.”

As it turned out, Zsasz didn’t know where Black Mask was, because he was only a pawn.

It was disappointing, but not as disappointing as a pair of trouble showed up before he could’ve finished off the psychopathic killer.

The big one with the cape launched at him, pushed him away from the psycho, while the little one sneaked up on him from behind.

Jason twisted around instantly, knocked hard into the kid’s face with an elbow before the little ninja could attack him.

“Robin, don’t--” Dick tried to call his little partner off, but it was too late. The brat pounced at Jason again and got his ass handed to him.

“Batman and Robin, the protector of criminals. That sure would make a great headline,” he stated thoughtfully, after drove the brat into the ground.

The big one was suddenly behind him.

“I’m not here to protect Zsazs, I’m here to stop the killing. Both his and yours.”

“You really nailed the big man’s tone,” Jason laughed harshly and returned the attack.

“Where’s the kid, I know you have him,” Dick queried, after took a hold of Jason and slammed him into the ground just as Jason had done to his partner.

A beam of laser hit Dick in the shoulder; he let out a pained humph and stumbled off a little.

“Back off, Batman, or the next time it won’t be the stun mode.”

“What--” Dick gaped at the teen, looking more shocked by the fact that it was Roy who shot him than actually got shocked by the laser.

Damian crawled up from the ground with a vague groan, took a quick glance at Roy who was pointing his cybernetic arm at Dick’s direction, then hurled at the redhead immediately.

The four of them fought against each other, but not for long.

Unlike last time, there’s no reason for Jason to stick around and fight to the death; he had no interest of killing the poster boy or the spawn, and he had no interest of continue a fight that he couldn’t win.

It was a fight that nobody could win, and Dick knew it as much as him; which was why Dick didn’t pursue them when he and Roy retreated, or maybe it was because Jason had shot Zsasz in the back when the psycho had tried to sneak out, and Dick just didn’t trust Damian would actually stay behind and keep Zsasz from dying as he was told if Dick left him alone and chase them.

The Batman and Robin were an unpleasant surprise, but they weren’t the only unpleasant surprise that came up tonight.

Some people were hurling after them on the rooftops once they had left the arena. Jason didn’t know who they were, not until one of them had shot his arm with an arrow.

It slowed him down no more than a second, but it was enough to let those guys catching up on them at one of the rooftops.

Roy whipped his head around, eyes widened the second he had realized what was happening. “Wait--” he cried out, but the man in the green costume had already flown upon Jason and clashed him down to the ground.

“Are you okay?” the other one in the red costume come up and spoke to Roy.

Roy ignored the guy, glaring at his mentor with his teeth clenched. “Get off him,” he demanded.

The harsh tone had gotten Oliver Queen scowled in confusion. Jason took the chance, drove his knee into the man’s stomach and rolled him off.

The man seemed like he was going to attack Jason again, but stopped himself when Roy stepped between them.

“Back, off,” Roy growled, lifted his right arm and pointing a finger at Oliver’s chest.

Oliver glared at him, looking even shocker than Dick did when he had realized Roy was actually helping Jason. “Why are you helping him? Do you know who he is?”

“Yes, I know who he is, and you need to back off.”

Oliver exchanged a concern look with the other Roy Harper.

“Speedy--” the Red Arrow started, but Roy cut him off.

“Speedy is dead,” he told his counterpart, “You can call me Arsenal.”

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Hands pulled out the pockets of his hoodie, he drew the hood over his head. The scream only existed for a split second before it was muffled.

The man in the deep of the alley had his back to him, one hand over the girl’s mouth, keeping the girl tightly against his body, while the other hand rummaging under her skirt.

He ran up then leaped, swung at the side of the man’s head with his solid fist. A sob broke out the girl’s mouth once the hand was away, the attacker faltered a few steps backward and crumpled.

“Go,” he told the girl, who was shaking like a leaf and clenched her clothes in terror.

The girl was taller than him, but not much older. She took a quick glance at him, eyes brimming with tears.

Nothing but a strangled sound she could drag out of her trembling lips, before she flew past him and left the alley. It didn’t matter that she said her “thank you” or not, what important was now she was safe.

He watched the girl with the corner of his eyes, while keeping his main focus on the offender.

Rose himself up on the ground, the man let out an agitated brawl, lunging at Roy with the knife he had pulled out from his pants pocket.

Since he wasn’t wearing his Kevlar armor, the blade could easily cut through his skin. He was only going out for a walk, hadn’t expected he would run into a crime. But he was walking in the streets of Gotham, so he guessed the big guy was right, about how Gotham worked.

The only protection Roy had on him right now was himself, which was also his only weapon, and it was more than enough to handle a scum like this.

He didn’t even need to use his right arm to bring the offender down, but he used it anyway. The cybernetic arm had a tighter grip than his real arm, he stepped aside as the knife came at his face, caught the wrist of the man and squeezed the knife out of his hand.

The pain made the man shouted and knelt down on the ground; with a little more pressure, then the bone shall broke, Roy tightened his hold bit by bit.

No texture or temperature he could feel with his right palm, the tech was precise and operative, but its sensory system wasn’t delicate. The only information Roy could read was pressure and vibration, if he closed his eyes, he wouldn’t even be able to tell what object he was holding.

He wondered should he make some adjustment himself, he had read a lot of books lately, and he had learnt everything about his own arm, though he doubted he could feel the touch of skin ever again, he probably could find a way to install a temperature sensor that could transmit the reading back to his nerves.

He wondered would it be harder, if he could feel the warmth in his own hand. Right now, it felt easy, to crumble the wrist with his unfeeling grip.

The man was shrilling and wrenched his face in agony, knees shuffled on the ground as a useless attempt to wriggle out.

Would the man learn the lesson if he crumbled his wrist? Brows knitted together, Roy inspected the man who knelt before him.

He remembered seeing a lot of bad guys like this on the street, back when the time he was homeless. The offenders, the bullies, the gangsters, he had seen the thing they did, the trouble they had caused.

Before Ollie had taken him in, he had been running and hiding from them all the time, and he could still easily remembered the first time he had seen Green Arrow on the news, and he had thought to himself, that how cool it would be if he could’ve brought those pests down like that archer guy.

A second before the bone crushed, he released the wrist; but he didn’t let the man go, not yet.

All he wanted was a quiet walk to clear his head, but he was glad that he ran into this. The man slumped aside once he was free, Roy reached out his left hand, yanked the man up slightly by his collar.

The vibration echoed through him as his fist thudded into the face. He gashed his teeth a little, tried to focus on the resonance—“ _Try to think about something else, could you do that?_ ”—instead of the voices in his head.

He could do that, he could stifle it down.

Except the voices were still there, and he was still listening.

“What happened, Roy? What did he do to you?” Ollie had asked him at the rooftop where they had caught up on him and Jason.

The older Roy had seemed like he wanted to take charge of the conversation, and not happy about the fact that Ollie had cut in before he could start. But he had also wanted to know the answer, so he didn’t intervene at first, just staring at Roy in worry.

A hand in a green glove had reached out at him, he had swatted it away and taken a step backward.

He had been standing between two men, one was his mentor who had once provided him a roof over his head and taught him about what he needed to learn to be a hero, one was the weird guy with a goofy red bucket who he had been staying with for a week.

Jason didn’t step aside when Ollie had moved forward; Roy had knocked his back against the hard wall of chest when he'd taken a step back.

Both men were taller and thicker than him, and he had felt more than just a bit confined between them, and the confinement had agitated him. He'd turned his head around to glare at the big Red, pushed the guy slightly with his left hand, while the right one had still pointed at Ollie.

Jason had tilted his head, appeared to have glimpsed at his hand then to his face. Since the helmet had been put on, there had been nothing on sight, but it would be easy to imagine the expression he had worn, something standoffish but not without alarm.

Regarded Roy for a moment, Jason had held up his hands peacefully and taken a few steps away.

“Nothing,” Roy had answered without glanced at Ollie, didn’t turn back to face the man until Jason had pulled back far enough. “It’s not what you think.”

Ollie had snorted in disbelief. “It’s not what I think?” he had retorted sharply, “So this guy didn’t grab you and hold you against your will?”

“No,” the reply hadn’t come out before he had hesitated for a good whole second, because the big guy did grab him from the start if they’re being honest.

“If he didn’t do anything, then why are you helping him,” the older Roy had asked, purposely chimed in before Ollie could continue. His voice had sounded calmer than Ollie’s, but still had the same criticism and bafflement.

“Batman told us you’ve been seen with him a couple of times, and it looked like you and him have been working together. What happens here, Roy, why would you work with the Red Hood.”

“We’re teaming up,” he had folded his arms and shrugged. “And why are you two calling me by my name? We are in costumes, what happened to the ‘Secret Identity 101’?”

Behind him, Jason had let out a puff of a laugh. Red Arrow had opened his mouth to response, but Ollie had spoken first, with his eyes glared at Jason in warning.

“You can tell me what happened after we get home,” he had said to Roy, while shooting daggers at Jason’s way.

The instant Ollie had reached at his hand, Roy had growled, “ _Don’t touch me_ ,” and twitched his hand away.

It had been all he wanted, Oliver reaching out to him; he had been craving for it, had tried hard to draw his attention, tried hard to be reckoned, waiting to be called upon for basically anything. In his own perspective, it wasn’t something that happened once upon a time, when in reality it was, or at least it was a decade ago.

Now he didn’t want it, now he felt the burn.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” he had faced Ollie with a grim expression.

If the first time Roy brushing him off had somehow wounded his feeling, then the second time had undoubtedly angered the man.

“It isn’t an option,” Ollie had spoken without consideration, “it’s an order. I don’t care what you think you’re doing with him, but I’m not going to let him do anything to you. You’re coming home with us.”

“I don’t take order from you anymore, I’m not Speedy. You want to boss people around then find yourself another sidekick. You think you can still order me around after what happened? After you threw me away?”

“I didn’t--” Ollie had gnashed his teeth. “I didn’t throw you away, I didn’t _know_.”

“Yeah, because you’re useless,” his mouth had broken into a cold sneer, bearing his sharp, biting teeth.

At first, he just couldn’t believe it, how the hell that his mentor--his friend, his partner, his basically only thing in the world--could not tell the difference, but then he realized, maybe it really had no difference, especially not to Ollie.

If the man could leave Roy in his big house and just easily forget about him all the time, then why it was unbelievable that he would forget about Roy in the pod for a decade.

Ollie had glared at him for a moment, looked like a man who had gotten roughed up badly on the ring, but then his eyes had hardened, because Oliver Queen wouldn’t easily be knocked down.

“You can blame me all you want, you can hate me all you want, but you’re coming back,” the man had snarled, “You have been locked up for a decade, and your arm has been taken, you are in no position of protecting yourself, let alone team up and doing whatever you have been doing with a killer. Whether you like it or not, you are coming back, and you’re under supervision until we’re sure you’re okay.”

“You’re not even paying attention right _now_ ,” Roy had returned the snarling, “I have my arm back, and I’m more than capable of protecting myself.”

“Oh believe me, I see that,” Ollie had said without glancing at his arm. “I just don’t know how you get it, who does it from, or how does it work, that means you’ll have a full examination before we head home.” The way he spoke as if it was settled.

Of course he would need a full examination, of course they would give him a check up so they could find the problem. Whatever he did was just never good enough, if he gave himself a new arm, then sure the arm was somehow faulted.

He was just a stupid child who could do nothing but wrong, who would run off by himself and get captured for a decade, then run off again and get mixed up with who most certainly was a bad guy according to them.

The moment Ollie had stepped forward, a surge of heat had risen up in the back of Roy’s head, before he had realized what he was doing, he had already lunged at the man, swung at the man's face with his cybernetic fist.

Ollie’s head had thrown aside, and his lips had broken. He had reacted instantly, grabbed Roy’s arm, twitched it behind his back and held him down on the ground.

A gun-cocking sound had come from above. “Someone definitely should call Child Protective Services,” Jason had remarked, while pressing the gun against the back of Ollie’s head.

“Drop the gun,” the older Roy had said, with an arrow aiming at Jason.

“Please,” Jason didn’t turn back nor lowered the pistol, “I have nothing against you heroes. It wouldn’t be my pleasure to kill a member of the Justice League, but if the folklore here doesn’t let go of my boy, then I’ll have no choice but make it my pleasure.”

“Not as much as it is my pleasure to kill you,” the older Roy had replied in an unimpressed tone. “But since I don’t want to do any killing tonight, lets all just take a step back. Including you, Ollie.”

The man had grunted in response.

Gradually, Jason had lowered the pistol after Ollie had pulled away from Roy, then the other Roy Harper had eased his hold on the arrow.

“You, _shut up_ ,” the older Roy had stopped Oliver in a roar, before the man could open his mouth again. Then he had turned to Roy, extending a hand to him. Roy had dismissed it, pulled himself up from the ground.

Red Arrow had regarded him and said, “If you really don’t want to stay with Ollie or me, then we’ll respect your decision. We could find you somewhere else to stay.”

“No need for that, I’m staying with him,” Roy had replied bluntly, head tipped in hint of Jason, while his eyes still glaring at his mentor.

Again, Ollie had taken a step forward, but the older Roy had pushed him back promptly.

“Why would you want to stay with him, Roy, what did he tell you?” Red Arrow had frowned. “Whatever he said, you can’t trust a word of it. That guy is a killer, he tried to kill Batman, and he tried to kill Nightwing and the others. He’s dangerous.”

Hand lifting up slightly to draw attention, Jason had said in a sardonic tone, “Hello? I’m still here.”

“And you shouldn’t be,” Ollie had sniped. “It’s none of your business, Jason Todd. I don’t want to deal with you, because you’re Batman’s problem. So stay away from my kid, or I’ll take you down.”

“Your sense of protectiveness for your children has certainly brought tears in my eyes, Uncle Green,” Jason had laughed. “Are you always such a protective father, or have you taken some parental class to teach you how to be one after the failure you had with the clone?”

“Hey, smartass,” the older Roy had hailed at Jason. “You want to get it on with our blondie, then go out with him and get a room for yourself. Roy and I are talking here.”

“No, we’re done,” Roy had denied.

“Roy--”

A hand had tried to stop him as he had walked past his counterpart, he had disregarded the appeal, and stood next to the big Red.

He had said to Ollie, “I’m not your child anymore, so leave me alone.” Then he had said to the other Roy, “You don’t need to worry about me, I’ll take care of myself.”

“You are not going anywhere with him--”

“Stop right there, Green Arrow,” he had warned with his right arm held up, transformed his hand into the missile launcher. Though he wasn't going to fire, the gesture alone had been enough to freeze the blond man.

“I have no interest in you anymore,” he had said to Ollie, and found the older Roy staring at him with an intricate expression.

For a reason Roy didn’t know, his counterpart had seemed like he'd tasted bile in his mouth, yet somehow wanted to bark in laughter at the same time.

He hadn’t taken it in mind, but kept his focus on Ollie. “Don’t worry, old man,” he had tugged his lips into a cynical smirk, “I won’t do anything you wouldn’t do.”

The bark of laughter, dry and sour, had risen from the rooftop, when he and Jason had vaulted to leave.

“Why is your clone laughing?” the big guy had asked in the middle of the swing.

“’ _Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do_ ’,” he had quoted. “The boss used to say it all the time, whenever he went out for weeks and left us at home.”

They hadn’t said anything after that, headed back to the base in silence, taken off their costume and started tending their wounds.

Apart from the arrow wound on Jason’s shoulder that had caused by Oliver, the encounter with Batman and Robin had left a bunch of cut and bruises on them, though on the plus side, the dynamic duo didn’t seem to be any better.

Or maybe it wasn’t such a good thing that they’re even; despite the pocket-sized ninja with the mouth seemed to fall short of the reputation (pun totally intended), Batman and Robin were heroes, and Roy didn’t think they should fight against each other if they both just wanted to do the right thing.

Could they both be right? Or, did one of them have in deed done wrong. Roy tried not to think too much about it, when he had fired a shot at Batman, he had only done it because it had seemed to be necessary, then the little ninja had jumped him, so the next thing he knew, they were fighting.

He tried not to think about why he would end up fighting Batman and Robin, and he tried hard not to think about anything, anything regarded Ollie, or the other Roy, or what they had said about Jason.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know anything about the guy; “I was the second Robin, the one after Dick Grayson, your contemporary, I’m sure you know him,” he had told Roy one night.

“A clown killed me, then I come back to life. One of my mentor’s girlfriends patched me up after she found me, trained me for a while, then I went back to Gotham and try to have my revenge.”

“What kind of revenge,” he had asked.

“Kill the Joker, kill the Batman,” the guy had simply replied.

“Why Batman.”

“Why not Batman,” the guy had flicked him a frigid smirk. “Doesn’t matter what the reason was, I changed my plan in the end. Instead of killing them both, I gave the Bat a choice, kill me or I kill the Joker in front of him.”

“What did he choose.”

“He chose to throw a batarang at me,” Jason had said, mouth curled into a sneer.

Roy didn’t know what he felt about that, that or everything else.

There’re so little he knew in these days, the world had shifted and changed while he had been asleep, a lot of things had collapsed and rebuilt for god knows how many times, and he was still the same fifteen-year-old him, though he wasn’t sure who this “him” was supposed to be.

One thing he knew was that the guy didn’t do things the way Ollie or the others did, but the logic he gave seemed sensible enough, so far, Roy didn’t really feel the need to be against it, and it’s not like the guy would’ve forced him to do anything he didn’t want.

The guy himself seemed sensible enough too, as sensible as he was confusing.

Sure the big Red was a weird guy who liked to hit and kill criminals, and there’s a good chance he really was crazy. But the guy didn’t seem evil to him, and just because people were crazy didn’t mean they weren’t nice to be with.

He didn’t know how he actually felt about Jason; he didn’t even know how he actually felt about himself.

He knew he was angry at Ollie, that was undebatable. He and the older Roy were pretty much cool, though he wouldn’t want to spend time with the guy, and think about how there’s already a Roy Harper, who was wanted by his friends, by his family, by that beautiful little girl of his, so another one was completely unnecessary.

He wished he could stop thinking, but his brain was whirling; there’re so many noises inside, they bothered him as much as the silence always did.

After finished patching up the guy’s shoulder, he had changed into his casual, and left the base without leaving a word. Jason didn’t say anything or ask where he was going.

The guy probably would just leave it, if he hadn’t come back. Not that Roy had ever thought about leaving and run off on his own, he wasn’t those people who could just walked out and leave, not even with Ollie and the other Roy right now; there’s no place for him in there, and it was the truth he could see.

The resonance rang through his brain, as he slamming the sex offender with his insensitive fist. The blood brimmed over the man face, like how it was with that gang leader he and the big Red had pried information from.

He hadn’t stopped until Sonny had wept and whined for mercy; the voice was broken, and it was so weak, he had almost missed it. His heart had been throbbing the whole time, and he had felt both nausea and gratified, when he had stopped and seen the face.

A gloved hand had rested on the nape of his neck, brushed the small spot of skin above his collar kindly with a thumb. “Why, Arsenal, I think you spooked him,” Jason had remarked, and Roy could easily hear the grin in his voice.

The man fell down on the ground like a scrap of rag, once he loosened his grip. Roy regarded the man for a moment, with his brows knitted.

 _Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do._ He had never seen Ollie did something like that, he wondered was it a thing he would do; beating up the criminals not just because they deserved it, but also because he wanted to.

That’s a question he would know no answer, he supposed, since he wasn’t planning on seeing Ollie again.

Hands shoved inside his pockets, Roy walked out the alley, called the medic and headed home.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

“Are you guys going to stay?”

The question had gotten the other end of the line silenced for a few seconds. When the reply came in, Roy sounded tired, which was basically how he sounded the whole time since he had contacted Dick and informed him about what happened.

“No,” Roy told him, “I don’t think so. Ollie is…I’m not sure he wants to stomp through the street until he tracks them down, or just go home and get himself completely wasted. He hasn’t said anything since the kid left. I don’t think us staying here is a brilliant idea though. Sure you’ve heard the story about rebellious teenager and overbearing guardian.”

“Only the classic,” Dick responded with a dry snort.

He could still easily remember the time when all of them were that young; dashing little kiddies who started to realize that the adult wasn’t always right and what they said wasn’t the written law.

There’s no stopping the kids from developed their own opinion, and the harder someone pushed the further they’re away if not pushed back. It was easy to push though, it was guiding that took effort; a kind of skill that couldn’t be acquired by mere strong will or force. Something he was sure not even Bruce, who was basically a master of everything, could master.

Certainly, it wouldn’t do anyone any good if Oliver was to stay, running along the street, trying to find out where Jason and the younger Roy were and drag the boy home. But in this age (not that he was old or anything), Dick had come to understand the urge of it, the compulsion to take a firm hand, put the young ones in place so they wouldn’t endanger themselves along with someone else.

Back when he was younger, he thought it was about control, and it was; but it was only the means not the reason.

“ _Why does he have to do this, why does everything have to do it his way,_ ” once he had complained, when he had been grounded by Bruce for disobeying order.

All he wanted was to help, and he did, and he got punished for it. Alfred hadn’t replied until he had finished wrapping the bandage around Dick’s injured leg.

“ _For one of the most simplest reasons that draws us to choose to handle things in one way instead of the others, I assume,_ ” Alfred had said, putting everything back into the first-aid kit. “ _Because that is a way he knows thoughtfully well, and it isn’t scary to him. Unlike you are._ ”

“ _How am I scary?_ ” Dick had frowned in confusion.

“ _Oh, Master Richard, every child is scary, that is the only thing all the children have in common. It would be a godsend if I could say that I don’t know that sort of horror myself, but I’m not that fortunate,_ ” Alfred had told him in a solemn tone.

“ _And in spite of everything you know about Batman, the man behind the cape and the cowl isn’t that different than you and me, you scare him just as easily as he scares me._ ”

At that point, it was impossible to imagine that Bruce could be scared by anything, but later he had learnt, that it was never the truth.

“I don’t wanna just leave him,” Roy continued, “but I don’t know what to do either. He doesn’t want to listen to us right now, he doesn’t want anything to do with us, and I doubted Red Hood could have that much influence on him. I feel like all the credit should go to Ollie and his negotiating skill, but I don’t know, maybe it turned out exactly the way it would’ve turned out. Maybe it just the way it is.”

He stopped for a second, leaving Dick slightly wonder what he meant by that.

“I kind of have a bad feeling that even if Ollie or me successfully drag him home, he’d just run off again and somehow ends up worse.”

“How could it be any worse,” another voice raised in the cave. Dick didn’t turn around to the voice, just glanced at the reflection he could see on the screen. Damian was standing behind him with his arms crossed, the face he saw was obscure but the criticism in the tone was clear.

“That ginger fool was fighting us at Red Hood’s side. If he isn’t demented before, then he sure is now,” Damian scoffed.

“You’re just mad because he broke your nose,” Dick stated evenly. He could feel the glare on his back, but he ignored it, thought for a moment before continued his conversation with Roy.

“Though I wouldn’t say Speedy is in safe hand, but they do seem to work good together,” he offered, in the easier tone he could muster, which wasn’t much. His face couldn’t help itself but grimacing a little.

“That really isn’t something comforting, Wingster.”

“At least we both can agree that the kid doesn’t look like he’s hurt.” He weighed for a moment before he added, “Despite everything Jason has done, I do believe he doesn’t want to harm the kid.”

A small sound of snort came through the comms, the worry inside it was heavy.

Few seconds later, Roy started in a bleak voice, “Kid wants the space, I do think we should give him the space, but that isn’t exactly Hal or Clark he turns to, you know.”

He did know. When his head had been full of doubt and confusion, Clark had given him the support and guidance he had needed, just as Hal had given Roy.

Though it seemed unlikely to him that Jason wanted to hurt the kid, it was also far from likely that he would be that kind of support the younger boy might need.

What was he doing with Speedy, seriously?

Roy was saying, “I gotta drag the old man out of your city, before he decided to do anything which might turn out to be an awful decision. God knows he already reacted bad enough. If there’s anything…”

“I’ll let you know,” Dick assured him.

“Thanks, man.”

“Say hi to Lian for me when you're home.”

“Sure,” Roy sounded deadly serious, “but not until I pray to all the deities out there that the only reason she would be mad at me is that I refuse to give her another scoop of ice cream, and then I cry till that little girl personally promise me she would never run away from me whatsoever.”

“Be careful with the crying or you might give her a nightmare,” Dick warned jokingly, despite the fact that his friend probably hadn’t meant it to be a joke.

The cave fell into silence once the link had disconnected. Sinking his back into the armchair, Dick stared at the screen for a while.

Without invitation, another conversation he had earlier tonight came into his mind.

“What are you doing with the kid?” he had asked Jason during the fight at the arena. Jason didn’t give him a straight answer.

“What are you doing with the spawn?” the guy had retorted while attacking, “You don’t think you could steer him to be good, do you?”

“I’m helping Robin, just like _he_ has helped you.”

“Then I hope for your sake that you have better luck with problem child than him. The brat you got there is eighty pounds of solid problem.”

“Everyone has their problem,” Dick had replied curtly, “all they need is to move past it.”

“Speaking like a true optimist,” Jason had snorted. “Do you think Zsasz there could move past his problem? Do you think a murderer like him could one day learn the wrong of his own action and therefore reform?”

“I think it’s not for us to decide whether he lives or not.”

“How much effort have you put in there to perfect the tone,” Jason had let out a spiteful laugh and said.

“You really are a showman, aren’t you? But that’s all you are and all you are doing with his cowl, you put on a show, a parody. You are not him. Not even yourself have believed you are. A word of advice, bro, step aside before it’s too late. The bad guys will see through the charade soon, and they will put you down, and when you fail, you wouldn’t just fail yourself.”

“And you think you could do better? You think you are more like him than me? Than Tim?”

“Who says I want to be like him?” the guy had sneered. “I could do better because I can do what he couldn’t, because I’m not him. And you could too, if you weren’t so afraid to break a few rules.”

“The rule is what kept us from falling into them. You think by killing the killers would make everything better? You’d just add another killer to the list.”

“I do what I have to, and unlike you, I'm not afraid of anything.”

That was a lie. Jason might not afraid of being a killer, but he's definitely afraid of _something_.

And the truth was, maybe they all had something to afraid of.

The city had almost brunt to the ground, just because Dick was too afraid to do the job. He couldn’t do anything to stop the doubt from plaguing his mind. He never liked being Batman, never wanted the mantle, and being Batman wasn’t about what he liked, or what he wanted.

Though he wouldn’t agree to most of the thing Jason had said, the guy was at least right about one thing, that not even Dick himself had believed he could be Bruce.

He didn't even want to be like Bruce. The callous darkness was something he would rather live without. If the choice was his, he wished he could never need to see the Bat in his own image. But the choice wasn't his. Right now, he was the dark knight of Gotham, and part of him knew that the city would always want more than just him.

He didn't possess that kind of devotion to this city as Bruce had; devotion or obsession, if there’s a difference, then it’s really hard to tell. 

Sometimes it felt like all Gotham did was drag people down. The weight in here was never good for an acrobat, sooner or later he would fail and he would fall, a small voice in his head kept telling him that, and it didn’t sound like it was a threat but a prophecy. He might’ve dared himself to believe that there’s a small chance Bruce might still be alive as Tim was so eager to believe, if it wouldn’t do nothing but shaking his resolve further.

He needed all the resolve he had for this, and it was far from enough. All _he_ could give for Gotham was far from enough.

Damian was inspecting him from behind.

“What’s on your mind.”

“Nothing,” he said. His voice was neutral, as well as his face. Damian clicked his tongue.

“If you are trying to fool me, then you are more of a fool than I thought,” the brat scoffed ruthlessly.

Turning his chair around, he met with the pair of green eyes that was as sharp as always. He didn’t want to show anything he shouldn’t, but it seemed like the kid could see it nevertheless.

Somehow the kid had sensed it, the reek of his doubt. Dick wondered was it because he had a nose for seeking out weakness like every predator did, or did he know it merely because he had started to know Dick, just as Dick had started to know him.

He expected Damian might want to reopen tonight topic of “how they should’ve left the murderer to die and went after Red Hood”, that’s all he had been nagging Dick about, since Jason and the younger Roy had gotten away while they had been keeping Zsasz alive until the ambulance showed up.

But if he knew anything about Damian, then he’d know that sometimes, the brat could be a surprise.

“I heard what Todd said, don’t let it get into your head,” was what Damian ended up saying.

“It isn’t what he said,” Dick told him, not exactly a lie.

Pondering for a second, he started thoughtfully, “It used to be easy. Put on the suit, go out and kick the bad guy’s ass. Save the day, then turn home for the night snack Alfred always keeps in the kitchen.”

“And now it’s not?”

“Now it’s…different,” Dick shrugged, knowing it had been different for a long time. Not that he hated changes, it was the opposite. But the uncertainly and insecurity that risen up from this particular situation had unsettled him. Deep down, he always knew what he was doing, and he had confidence for his own move. No one could sail through the air otherwise, and that’s what he did best.

Now he felt like every move he pulled was imperfect, and he wasn’t quite so much as flying but walking in a swamp; a swamp that Bruce had rolled in it his whole life, that it had been his own element, he had left as many marks on it as it had left on him.

“What do you mean by different? Do you want to say that everything become too hard? That your new role is too hard?” Damian snorted heartlessly. “If you find it too hard for you, then maybe you should give up. So I can finally take charge of things.”

“Yeah, sorry kid, not gonna happen. You drowning in the cape is not a good way to keep the criminals from dying with laughter.”

Damian clicked his tongue, but didn’t seem especially insulted by his response.

“All those years, everyone keeps telling me that my father is a legend,” the kid regarded him for a moment, then started suddenly.

“You are not my father, Grayson. No one expect you to exceed him or even be him. Certainly not me. But you are Batman, for now, and although it wouldn’t be a surprise to me if you fail the title, it’s not going to happen. Do you know why?”

“Why,” he played along.

“Because I’m here,” the little tyrant flashed him a smirk, something that had enough confidence to serve an entire army, let alone the both of them. “And since I don’t fail, I won’t allow you to either. What would anyone say about Robin, if he let his Batman fail?”

Dick hummed in thought.

“Is that you giving me a pep talk?”

“It is me telling you to stop with the brooding and focus on the job,” Damian replied sternly, as if even a mild suggestion that he would be nice and supportive to Dick was offensive.

“But brooding _is_ part of the job,” said Dick in a reasonable tone. Expectedly, the brat clicked his tongue again.

He wasn’t Bruce, he never thought he was. All he could be was himself, and all he could do was give it his best, which probably wouldn’t be enough, but he wasn’t doing this alone.

For a brief moment, he wondered was that what Jason felt, that not even him could carry his mission alone.

Was that why he dragged the teenager into this? Dick hoped it wasn’t, because Jason’s mission was to kill, and by being on his side, that meant the kid might pick up the same method as his eventually.

 _If the kid hadn’t already_. A small part of him uttered, thinking about how the younger Roy hadn’t seemed uncomfortable with the fact that Jason had wanted to kill a man, even the man was someone as depraved as Zsasz.

He wanted to do something, maybe talked some sense into the kid, which he had kind of tried when they had faced each other, and he had gotten totally disregarded.

The kid was colder and more remote to him than Dick had expected, not that he couldn’t understand why the younger Roy would look at him as though he was a compete stranger. He had met Dick a few times before, but only known him as a kid.

And Roy was right, there’s nothing they could do if the kid himself refused to leave Jason’s side.

Did he believe Jason was his friend? Dick wondered. The two of them didn’t exactly act like they’re friend, but there’s something between them. Something Dick couldn’t quite be able to pinpoint.

For the moment, Oracle was monitoring the street, trying to find out where Jason was. Though he wouldn’t hold his breath for that, since Jason would hardly leave a trail if he didn’t want to be found, but as long as he was in Gotham, sure he would run into Dick again. And when that time came, he would be put behind bar for all the crimes he had committed throughout the years, and without him, maybe the kid would realize he had nowhere else to turn to but home.

It would be the best, for the both of them.

It was the only way they could receive the help they both needed, that much was for certain.

 

***

 

The TV was on, muttering in the background quietly. Nothing interesting enough on the TV that could capture his attention, he was trying to read a book, but the context kept escaping him.

It had been almost two hours since the kid had gone out, he wasn’t particularly worry though, not about where the kid was or would he come back at all. After the encounter with the Arrows, it was reasonable to think that Roy would want some time alone, and unless there’s some trouble came up, the kid would be back. If there’s ever a chance the teen might be getting homesick, the notorious temper of Oliver Queen had pretty much ripped it away.

He looked up from the page he was staring mindlessly when the noises came in.

The kid had the hood drew over his head, eyes lost inside, left only the droop of his jaw line in the open. There’s a splash of stain that darkened the red hoodie he was wearing. Jason knew instantly that it was blood, but he didn’t say anything, nor did the kid.

There’s a drawer standing at the corner of the place. Without taking a glance at him, Roy went for the drawer, picked up some change clothes inside, then disappearing into the bathroom.

The sound of the shower running lasted significantly longer than usual. Jason turned his eyes back to the pages, didn’t do so much as changed his position, still lounging on the couch with his feet stretched out, taking up the whole couch from one end to the other.

Resurfaced with a T-shirt and a pair of shorts, the teen shuffled toward the kitchen area.

“I want a beer,” he announced flatly after scouting the fridge for a second, looking at Jason over his shoulder with a beer in his hand.

Jason hummed thoughtfully, but wasn’t objecting.

“Haven’t you just said you had a hangover this morning?” he pointed out, thinking about how the kid had grouched crankily with his head shoved into Jason’s chest and tried to stifle the headache he had woken up with. Apparently, the colorful stuff with the tiny umbrella Roy had poured down his throat like soda last night wasn’t nearly as nice and harmless as it tasted.

“It wasn't a hangover, it's just a headache. And it's been a day, I’m fine now.” The last part of the statement didn’t sound exactly true, but it didn’t seem like a lie either.

Taking a long swig of beer, Roy went to pick up something before he came to the couch. There’re bruises on his face and he was dragging his feet a little, nothing he hadn’t already gotten before he had gone out. The menace in a Robin suit had kicked the teen pretty hard in the leg at one point during their fight, and Roy had returned the favor by broken his nose.

A hand shoved at Jason’s leg. He propped up his knees, giving the kid some space to drop himself onto the couch.

Due to the long cold shower he had taken, Jason could feel with his feet that the cold of Roy was passing to him. The place had almost everything but hot water; someone before Jason had built up this place, but it hadn’t been used for decades until Jason had come upon it. While the water supply was intact and he had been able to put the electricity to work, he was having some problem with the heating system, which he should really figure out how to fix before winter.

Roy had brought a notebook and a pen with him. Putting the beer on the table, he settled down with his knees drew up against his chest, turning a few pages of the notebook then started writing something.

Jason put down his own book after observed the kid for a moment.

“Are you writing a strong letter to Green Arrow?” he asked casually, without menace.

“No,” Roy snorted. “Just putting down some ideas. Something I could build if I find the parts.”

“What kind of something.”

“Weapons, I guess? Some equipment? Maybe some sort of robot?”

“You want to build yourself a robot,” Jason quirked his eyebrows.

“Not as a toy,” Roy looked at him defensively, “but like a security system.”

“You know about mechatronics?”

“I could give it a try.” The kid turned back to his notebook. “Maybe not a robot, but something,” he said while focusing on his work, brows creased together in concentration.

“Ollie has all those high-tech stuff. He would teach me how to use the equipment, but he never told me how they work. I asked him once, but he just said I wouldn’t be interested.”

Roy let out a heatless snort, eyes squinted thoughtfully at the writing page.

“He probably thought I wouldn’t be able to understand since I grow up in the woods and all, or just didn’t want to go through all the trouble to explain. I've already learnt a few things before we met, so I wasn't that clueless. I studied the equipment by myself, not just how they work, but how to repair them, or evolve them. I’ve thought maybe I could try to build up something useful, but the boss said he didn’t need me for that, already got all the people who would take care that sort of thing for him. He said don’t bother, so I stopped.”

The self-learning, certainly, not whatever expectation he had been having for his old guardian. He didn’t imagine the kid would’ve stopped that until he knew about the lost decade.

“Do you?” he said gradually. Roy glanced at him. “Still bothered by what he said?”

The teen paused for a moment, green eyes staring into nothing. Then he ducked his head again and went back to work.

“Do you?” Roy retorted in an absent tone, while drawing something on the paper. “Did you hate him? When he threw a batarang at you? Do you still hate him?”

Jason took a moment to think about the answer, which he had never thought about before, probably because no one had ever asked him.

“No,” he shrugged, “And no.”

If the answer came as a surprise, the teen didn’t show. His hand hadn’t stopped drawing for a second.

“But you’re angry, right?”

Some part of him was muttering, that maybe he always was, because, why wouldn’t he? But to Bruce?

“Only before he made the choice,” he said, before realizing it was true.

Roy gave him a confused look. He sat up slowly, hands holding together while he was sorting out his thoughts.

“I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t,” he tried to explain, “Kill the clown, it won’t be too hard for the Batman to achieve, sure he could find the opportunity. So why didn’t he?”

 _Do you think daddy would come and find us?_ The voice rose up in the back of his mind, he stifled it, keeping his attention on Roy.

“All those people who have been hurt throughout the years, all those dead? They wouldn’t be hurt or died if he just took the necessary measure. If all those people out there weren’t enough to make him realize that before, sure he’d realize after what happened to me.”

When he had heard about his old man died in jail, mostly he’d just felt relieved. But even his dad was a worthless scum, he had still wanted to avenge the man after he had found out who was responsible for his death.

He didn’t, eventually, because it wasn’t the Batman’s way. He had restrained himself, because he was supposed to be, because that was what Bruce had expected from him, because did only that, Bruce would be proud, and because of that, Harvey Dent was still one of the major criminal in this city.

“ _You did the right thing, I’m proud of you,_ ” Bruce had said to him, once he had pulled himself away from Two-Face without killing the guy.

He had hung onto those words as hard as he could, otherwise, he might’ve broken out in tears and roared in anger. “ _Try to tell me that again when he hurt someone else, when he killed someone else, when he put the whole goddamn city into danger,_ ” he might’ve shouted.

And time and again, Two-Face did exactly that; because that’s what he did, some sick mental-case who had no control of his own twisted mind, just like the Joker. And between the two of them, at least Dent had a "good side".

“I was important to him, right?” Jason continued, “I was his partner, I was his friend, his ward. I should be enough to be his final straw, unless I wasn’t, unless I wasn’t ever worth shit to him, and I wasn’t anything but a replacement. _That_ —that could explain why he wouldn’t be compelled enough to give me the justice.”

“Is that it?” Roy asked in a quiet tone, eyes drifted to the pen on his hand.

And for a moment, a surge of cruelty flooded Jason’s heart, and he wanted to say, “ _Yes, of course it is. What do you expect, kid? That a superhero billionaire would find people like you and I worthy? That they will see us as anything besides the stray they picked up from the street? That they will grow to love us like a **son**? We’re nothing like them, no matter how many nice clothes they've put on us, what kind of private school they've sent us to, we would never be a part of that beautiful, sumptuous world._ ”

The pair of green eyes returned to his face, looking at him in a way that got him to realize, that whatever he was about to say, it would be magical, because it would be sealed on the kid’s heart forever if not changed him.

 _Think about how Oliver has left you to die, Roy, or have you already been thinking about that? I bet it never left your mind. I’m sure he didn’t do it on purpose though, he just didn’t give a shit._ _They never did._ He could’ve said that, and it would’ve become the truth, at least to the kid.

The notebook on Roy’s lap was long forgotten, he was staring at Jason as if he was the only one who left for him, listening as if there were no other voices in the world, no one he could bear to hear, or rely on, or trust.

It would be easy, to cut through the kid’s heart with his words. It would hurt him like nothing else, but then the blood would dry up and the lesion would scab over, the flesh would become thicker than it ever was, it would hardly be hurt again.

Who cared was it the truth or not, it would be doing the kid a favor.

_All they wanted was us being the good soldiers, they see us as a clay, that they could mold into their own image. How disappointed they must be, when they finally realized that we are not. We are not them, we are our own man, everyone is their own man. They don’t need us, not as what we are, and we don’t need them either. We could fight on our own, and we could take care of ourselves._

He knew what kind of doubt was going through the kid’s mind; all Roy needed was someone to say the final word ( _You are nothing to him_ ), then it would be settled.

How deeply could his words cut. Jason wondered. The kid's brows crinkled slightly, but there was no defense had been putting up on his face.

Picking up the beer Roy had left on the table, Jason took a draft. The pair of green eyes was following his movement.

“No,” he finally said, putting down the beer and let the heat of cruelty fade away. For some reason, the redhead seemed to expect him to be truthful. He could easily be otherwise. He could be spiteful, he could be ruthless. He had no reason to be.

“That’s not why he chose the clown over his old sidekick,” Jason told him, “Contrary to the popular belief, the truth is, Batman cannot do everything, he had weakness and he did fail.”

The possibility hadn’t even come close to his mind until he had seen it with his own two eyes, at that moment, right before Bruce had made the decision between him and the Joker’s life.

Only a fraction of a second, but he did see. The pain and the fear, battling over the man’s face. The helplessness he had witnessed was excruciating, if Jason could be able to feel sad at that point, he might’ve even felt sad for him.

While the man’s back had still been holding upright, stiffened in an unbreakable manner, he hadn’t looked so tall or strong anymore. He hadn’t looked like a man who was indestructible, he looked old and young at the same time, old like an old man who had made countless mistakes in his life, and young like a young boy who would fall down on his knees and cry.

Though Jason hadn’t actually believed that, there’s still a small part of him—the child part of him--kept questioning why (“ _I don’t think daddy would ever come and fetch **you**.”_ ), why Bruce wouldn’t have saved him. Sure he would be able to do that, because goddamn Batman could do _everything_.

“I didin’t think it’s possible,” he snorted, “I never got the time to do any hero-worshiping when I was a kid, but then he brought me in, and I saw what he can do, and that’s who he was, a hero.”

Batman was invincible, the man without weakness nor fear, and under the cowl, Bruce was a good man, a noble person who really gave a shit about all those people, even a street scum like him. He was everything Jason wanted himself to be, which probably was why it had been so hard during the last few days before he had left the manor to be in search of his biological mother.

No matter how much he wanted, he wasn’t Bruce, he wasn’t anything remotely like Bruce. He might not know much about anything at that point, but that much he knew, because the differences between them were unbearably clear.

“I didn’t think he could be scared, but he did. I don’t know exactly what part of it he was so afraid of, but I saw it, when he was certain he had to do something, or the Joker would die,” he stared straight into Roy’s eyes, as though he could share his vision, “He was so afraid of murder, he would rather did what he did to stop it from happening.”

It had gotten him two weeks to finally wrap his head around it. The truth was unimaginable, yet simple; Bruce didn’t spare the Joker’s life because he didn’t _want_ to kill him, but because he couldn’t. He was incapable of killing.

While the man could overcome great pain, the fear of killing itself had overwhelmed him. He couldn’t do it for anyone, he had talked about all the rules, as though it was a choice he could make. But he had no choice over this, he never had, he could control no more of it than a scorpion could will itself to not sting the frog.

"It just feels kind of pointless to angry at something that no one has the power to change," he said to Roy in conclusion.

Some people could do something, and some people couldn’t. It’s not their fault, it’s just the way it was.

Unlike Bruce, he didn’t have that kind of fear. He didn’t even have the fear of pain, or of torment, or of fucking psychopath who should burn in hell the first time he committed a murder. (“ _You’re still there, baby bird?_ ” A second later, he turned his face and looked up at the freak. His heart was blazing in hatred, even the horrendous pain in his body seemed to be shrinking down under the inferno.)

Being in fear was beyond useless; his mom always got scared whenever the old man raised his fist, what good had that ever gotten her.

He wasn’t afraid of killing; that was something he could do.

All things aside, he did appreciate what Bruce had done for him, what he had given him. That’s mostly why he was still here. He never loved Gotham, never saw her beauty. There’s nothing for him in this hellhole, but he was here, and he would help cleansed her.

Grayson probably had thought he was doing it to spite Batman, when in truth, he was honoring him. He didn’t actually believe Bruce was dead, since he knew from experience that death didn’t mean much in these days, but the man was absent, and his city needed to be protected.

He would never admit it out loud, but Grayson was good. Problem was, he didn’t have the conviction Bruce had, and he was too good of a student to do what had to be done.

Bruce wouldn’t approve his method, but Jason wasn’t looking for his approval anymore. The man always acted his way was the only way, always acted like he was right all the time. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t omnipotent, he made mistakes. He wasn’t without fear or weaknesses. He was just a man, he wasn’t perfect.

How perfect Green Arrow must have seemed to Roy, before he started to see the truth? Jason wondered. Remembered how he himself had once suffered from the turmoil, he reached out his hand and touched the teen gently in the shoulder, as though he had caught a sound of request.

Roy turned his head slightly, glancing at where his hand was. “How does it feel to be dead?” a moment later, he murmured, didn’t sound especially blunt or anything, didn’t even seem curious at all. It was just a chat, bouncing question and talking about shit. Something Jason hadn’t quite remembered he had ever done, not even before everything. It wasn’t unpleasant.

“Nothing, actually, not much I could remember,” Jason replied with honestly, then returned the question, “How does it feel to be in the pod?”

“Nothing,” the teen shrugged, “not inside the pod. It’s like one second I was doing the investigation, then the next second someone pulled me out of sleep, and I was freezing.”

“How about now, are you still freezing?” Without much thought, his hand moved up. The teen’s face was paler than his, and it was as cold as he suspected. He brushed the side of Roy’s face with his fingers, watching how the lashes fluttered before Roy leaned into his palm, almost nuzzling.

The cold on the cheek abated slowly under his touch. He couldn’t find it in himself to draw his hand away, or thought of a reason why he should be, not with the little redhead closed his eyes and resting in there.

A moment later, the eyes batted open.

“He was telling me what I did wrong again, even though I finished the job and everything gone well, and I just had enough of it, that’s why I took up the investigation alone. I wanted to show him I could do it,” the chapped lips brushed his palm when Roy was telling him in a plain voice.

“Guess I did screw up, didn’t I?”

Jason smiled a little.

“You probably did. But I went out of the country myself and gotten killed, so.”

The teen snorted against his palm, “It’s not a contest.” Jason flashed him another smile.

The tip of his fingers grazed along the rim of the teen’s ear, touching the skin that was still too cold for his liking. Roy pressed his lips into Jason’s palm once the hand had slid down, blindly chasing the warmth he was holding.

Somehow he was brushing against Roy’s mouth with his thumb. A small intake of breath from the redhead, then Jason bent down his head, while his hand pulling up the teen’s face with a delicate touch.

Without pressure, without intension, he pressed his lips against Roy’s, didn’t do anything but just stayed there for a moment.

“You know what I’m thinking?” he drawled in deep thought, while pulling away slowly. “I think Uncle Ollie will be furious at me if he learn about this.”

The uncertainty on the teen's face was snuffed out by the smart crack so fast, it's like it'd never been there. “Like he isn’t already?" Roy snorted in amusement, "You put a gun to his head, big guy, you're not going to become his best friend for life.”

That’s true, not that he cared about how the Green Arrow felt about him anyway. Jason hummed in response, hand dropping from the teen’s face.

“Come on, little Red, story’s over. It’s time to turn in.”

“Don’t treat me like a three-year-old,” Roy grunted displeasingly.

He was about to leave the couch when the redhead started, “Can we--” The teen bit his lips, couldn’t bring himself to finish.

Jason gave him a friendly look.

“Do you want to sleep with me?”

“I didn’t say that,” the kid grumbled, ears reddened with embarrassment.

“So you don’t want to sleep with me.”

“I didn’t say that either.” He glared at Jason with a sour face. “It’s nothing weird,” he declared.

“Don’t sweat it, kid, you're not even old enough to make it weird,” Jason remarked easefully, though the statement might not be one hundred percent true, but sure neither of them was ready to go there.

Roy scowled as though he was insulted. Jason cracked a smirk at him, while wondering exactly how long that the kid hadn’t gotten a proper sleep until last night.

He hadn’t actually thought about would the kid sleep better this way or not, just kind of figured that the redhead could use some sleep and he wouldn’t catch some if Jason left him alone.

The redhead did fallen asleep last night, and he hadn’t had a bad dream himself, so, who knew, perhaps he had slept better too.

“Come on, Red,” he offered kindly, “Or are you waiting for me to pick you up?”

“That’s a big ‘NO’, Red. Seriously, don't do it again, it’s like you have completely no regard for my self-esteem,” Roy grumbled, moving off of the couch, put the notebook and the pen aside then turned off the TV.

 

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of people died in this chapter.
> 
> Comments and kudos are highly appreciated!

It had been a relatively quiet night so far, no one rushed in covered in blood and gore, the only two patients who remained in the clinic for observation were a sixty-year-old homeless man who got beaten up on the street, and a young woman who almost got herself OD’d if her brother hadn’t brought her in just in time, both were in a stable condition right now and asleep for the moment.

After checking up on the patients one last time, she was ready to head back to her office, file up the medical records, then take some rest on the couch that she had already been sleeping on the last couple of nights. Normally, Morena would be here to take the night shift, but her kid had a cold, so she insisted that the single mother who had no relative in town to take a few days off until her little boy was fully recovered.

The other staff she got was the night school student Emma. The girl had volunteered to stay overnight, saying she should go home for a change, but she had reassured the girl that there’s no need for her to skip school, and shooed her away once her shift was over.

It didn’t seem anyone might’ve walked into the clinic at this late hour, she locked the door of her clinic and turned off the light.

“Dr. Thompkins.”

An unexpected voice caught her by surprise just as she started to walk toward her office. She spun around quickly. The streetlights outside crept through the window of her clinic, illuminated the place with its misty glow. The door she just locked had swung open in silence and closed again.

Someone was standing inside her clinic; a tall obscure figure caught between the shadow and the glow from the streetlights.

The loudest trait of the male ought to be the helmet, but the first thing that caught her attention was actually the stretch of sinister black fell over his board shoulder. It was a cape, she realized. Always the cape. An unpleasant sight for her sore eyes.

“I need your help,” said the tall male in the deep mechanical voice. Though the situation itself was far from unfamiliar to her, the voice and its owner weren’t. She squinted her eyes with suspicion, until she noticed the man was carrying something in his arms.

She couldn’t see the blood just yet, but she came to realize that she had smelled it already.

Once she took a glance at the teenager, who was tucked inside the man’s cape and breathing heavily in pain, she spun her heels immediately, “This way.” The man quickly followed her into the operating room.

She flicked the light switch on in a hurry; the boy was put down on the operating table, lying on his side. Only now, she noticed the arm, and the sight of it pained her.

“What happened,” she asked after scrubbed her hands. Put on a pair of medical gloves, she rushed back to the patient.

“Kid got shot in the back,” the man told her, and it was an answer like this made her wanted to burn all the capes in this city down to ashes.

She attached the boy to the monitor and placed the oxygen mask on him. The boy hadn’t lost conscious at the moment, but the vital signs were bad.

“Hold him still,” she instructed, then went to inspect the wound.

There’s a strip of cloth wrapped tightly across the teen’s back, as an attempt to slow down the bleeding. The tough material seemed to have come from the man’s cape, she cut the damp cloth off with difficulty, then met with another challenge, naming the protection armor the boy was wearing.

The armor wasn’t protecting the teen at the moment, but hindering her from saving his life. The scene was too familiar, it irritated her beyond measure. She removed the costume with the man’s help.

The boy was shaking, sweat all over his face. “What can I do.” The man had one of his gloved hands putting on the boy’s forehead, while the other one seizing his shoulder, keeping the teen on his uninjured side.

 _Pray and stay the hell away._ That was the answer she attempted to give, but at the moment she had no staff around and she could really use a pair of hands.

The location of the gunshot wound wasn’t close to the spinal, but the bullet went deep, and right now she couldn’t be certain just how deep it went or how much damages it had caused. “Do you have any medical experience?” she said in a rush, hands busy with the emergency treatment.

“I’ve been injured a lot, that ought to be counted for something,” the man replied in a flat tone.

“Scrub your hands and put on the medical gloves,” she said, “If you want him to be alive, you’re going to assist me.”

 

***

 

After three hours of surgery, the doctors had successfully brought the patient out of danger, but unable to save him from being assassinated in the custodial ward the next evening.

A police officer who had been assigned to guard duty had gotten the same lethal injection as one of the doctors whose body had been stuck inside a bloom closet. Zsasz had died in his sleep, and whoever killed him had left a calling card on his deathbed. A red card with the sketchy letters “R.H.” on it.

With the cybernetic arm placed on top of Jason’s shoulder, Roy was leaning over to look at the screen. “So,” he started, after reading the police report Jason had pulled up on the computer. “Did you go to the hospital last night and finish the job?”

Jason tilted his head to the teen. Roy’s face was slightly closer to his than he had realized.

“You know I was with you. You are my alibi witness.”

“I was asleep by the time it happened, I witnessed nothing,” Roy simply replied. “It isn’t just the Zsasz creep. A cop and a doctor are dead, I think I should at least ask.”

Fair enough. Jason hummed, then considered for a moment.

“Would you honestly believe me if I say ‘I would never’?”

Roy didn’t say anything but just looked at him, measuring him with his clear eyes. Jason wasn’t offended by the query. There’s no reason for Roy to leap into the conclusion that he would never kill an innocent, whether they were collateral or not.

Just because they had told each other stuff that they didn’t usually share, slept in the same bed, and, for a sudden moment of closeness, had kissed once, didn’t necessary mean they trusted each other in every aspect or that they’re good buddies.

“I don’t kill the innocent,” he assured the kid with ease. “And if I did go to the hospital and kill Zsasz, I would certainly not leave a card with ‘R.H.’ on it. I would choose something from a lyric, or a poem, something with more personality.”

Roy nodded, seemed to find his answer believable. “So how long have you been suffered from the fatal disease of dramaticness?” he asked with mock curiosity.

“Since I’ve been adopted by a giant bat. It’s contiguous,” Jason replied with a smirk.

Leaning back into the chair, he pulled up the pictures to the screen, and looked at them the second time. Not the picture of Zsasz, but the pictures of the victims, the police officer and the doctor, who wouldn’t be dead if someone just did their math in the first place.

“It could be just one dead murderer,” he started in a clear voice, turning his eyes from the pictures to the kid, “but that’s a bad thing. So now we got a dead murderer and two innocent victims.”

The kid held gaze with him for a moment, before turned to see the pictures.

“People are going to pin it on you anyway, with the calling card and the fact that you shot Zsasz in front of Batman,” Roy replied slowly, didn’t agree or disagree to what Jason had tried to tell him, what he had got to learn sooner or later.

“The police and possibly even Batman are going to think you’re a cop killer now.”

“Which undoubtedly is what Sionis aiming for,” Jason said, “Get rid of Zsasz before he could start telling anyone about who’s really running the horror show business and let me take the blame. Or maybe he just wants to turn me into the spotlight, put the Bat and the police after me, and Zsasz is just an addition of it.”

Roy hummed in thought, then replied with a shrug, “Either way, you’re public enemy number one. Everyone is going to have so much fun shooting at you as soon as they see you, hope that makes you feel real special.”

“You said it like it’s none of your business,” Jason gave him an amused look. “Does it mean you’re gonna split the second I’m caught?”

“You can count on it,” the redhead smirked.

“And here I am, thinking you’re warming up to me.”

“You’re thinking too much, big guy,” Roy told him, still leaning over his shoulder, with his face just slightly too close to Jason’s.

 

***

 

Things escalated in the next week, starting with a member of Wayne Industries chemical research team stole a new formula of psychotropic substances from the laboratory, and missing from his own home along with his whole family; then the Ravager gang, who was in charge of running the drug business in the north side streets, had suddenly terminated their relationship with their old pal Giordano, seemingly had found a new supplier who could offer them something cheaper but with equally high-quality if not even more side-effects.

Needless to say, Giordano was not happy being treated like a chopped liver; the mobster would’ve showed just how unhappy he was by making some retaliation to the gang and their new supplier, if the man himself hadn’t been attacked in his own home.

Although there’s no apparent evident indicated Sionis was involved, Giordano was known to be one of the people who had been at odd with Sionis.

The Wayne Industries incident hadn’t come to Jason’s attention as it did to Dick; he and Roy didn’t investigate the rouge employee, or come to discover that the new drug on the street had shared a similar structure with the stolen chemical formula from the Wayne laboratory.

The research team member, William Wade, had walked into the Wayne head office three days after he had been missing, with a suicide bomb strapped tightly on his chest. Jason had leant about this from the news, but the news didn’t told him that the man had had the detonator in his hand, but he didn’t push the bottom until Batman had arrived at the scene, or that he had told Batman that someone had kidnaped his whole family and holding them hostage.

Even though Batman had knocked the detonator off the man’s hand with a batarang, the bomb did eventually come off.

Ignorant of Wade’s side of the story, Jason and Roy hadn’t gone to recue the Wade family. That was the job for Batman and Robin. While the dynamic duo had traced down a lead to a cabin where the Wade family had been stored; Jason and Roy, on the other hand, knowing the Ravager had been making deal with Black Mask, had raided one of their nests.

By the time Batman and Robin was walking into a death trap to save a widow and her two children, a Ravager had spilled out the location of the drug manufacture centre after seeing Jason blown off three Ravager’s heads, with his teenager companion standing aside and keeping everyone else in check.

The two of them had gone to the manufacture centre, and Black Mask’s men had already been waiting.

 

***

 

There’re about a dozen of False Facers inside, all armed, but they weren’t the problem, the problem was the panther guy and his colleague. He and Roy had been taking out the guards on the second floor when a freeze gun blasted at them and a shadow with razor-sharp claws leapt onto his back.

With the panther guy he had met before clutching at him, Jason and the guy fell over the railing together, struggling against each other in the whole way down. Some of the workers downstairs caught the sound and looked up in surprise. Panic spread over the worktables, once the people had realized what’s going on.

The guy was quick and agile, but Jason had greater muscle strength. He flipped the guy around the second before they crashed onto the ground, holding the shapeshifter down by force and weighting heavily on him. The impact urged a grunt out of the guy’s throat, but it didn’t stop him from swinging his claws.

Soon after they brought the fight to the ground floor, the rapid gun blasts drove Roy vaulting off the railing too. Without knocked down any of the manufacturing equipment or the packaging tools, the kid landed neatly onto one of the worktables, as the same moment the panther guy pulled away from Jason after engaging with him shortly in hand-to-hand combat; the guy with the freeze gun followed, taking a swift jump from upstairs and dropped down by his colleague’s side.

The four of them regarded each other at a safe distance. All the False Facers in the manufacture centre flooded in to the ground floor, guns loaded and rose in ready.

“Black Mask wants to see the both of you,” said the panther guy in an exotic accent.

“What a coincidence, I have been hoping to see him too,” Jason drawled while assessing the situation. His hands had drooped at his sides, keeping his fingers close to the holsters.

“So, where is he?” he asked.

“You’re going to come with us.”

“Yeah, fat chance,” Roy chimed in with a scoff, still hadn’t gotten off from the worktable. There’s a low buzz of impulse charging coming from his right arm. The guy with the freeze gun sneered at him.

“I could just ice you, only the limbs. And once the boss decided he is finished with you, then I’ll have my fun.”

Jason raised his eyebrows and turned to the kid. “I think he might even like you more than Robin does,” he remarked. Roy let out a thoughtful hum in response.

“What’s the matter with you, Mr. Sneeze, still haven’t healed from the ass-kicking I gave you last time?” the teen retorted, looking down at the adult with a condescending smirk.

“His name is ‘Mr. Sneeze’?” Jason asked in mild confusion. Roy shrugged.

“There’s already a cold-themed villain in this city, so he couldn’t be ‘Mr. Freeze’.”

“The name is Zero,” the guy gritted out. He was one of the out of town talents Sionis had recruited as his personal bodyguard; though Jason hadn’t gotten to fight the guy last time at the warehouse, he knew for a fact that his other three pals were some serious characters, which meant the guy must be skilled in combat. Jason wondered how bad he had taken being defeated by a teenager who had fought him with one arm.

“’Zero’,” Roy nodded in acknowledgment. “Is that the number of your valuation?”

By the look he was giving Roy, it seemed like the guy would gladly turn the kid into an ice sculpture right here right now, then grind it into dust.

Before his colleague could raise the weapon and continue the gun blasting, the panther guy interrupted. “Enough talking. You are coming with us,” he said plainly, with certainty.

“We are not going anywhere with you,” the kid asserted.

Part of Jason wanted to second that, but he pushed back his fighting instinct.

The firearms the False Facers were carrying weren’t something as sophisticated or as destructive as the LexCorp products he had seen at the warehouse. Most of the men were carrying a variety of handguns, only few guys with automatic rifles. He and the kid had faced more people last time, and right now Roy who had two arms at work was the one who packed with the biggest toy on scene.

Last time, Jason had to fight against three professional killers; he had already killed the swordsman, and the giant was absent at the moment. The Mr. Freeze wannabe appeared to have his eyes on Roy, which left Jason with the big cat if they started the fight. The odds seemed good. He and the kid could take all of the men down, hijack the drug manufacture centre, leave only one or two of the False Facers alive to deliver the massage, and draw Black Mask out to them. It was the plan, after all; but in their original plan, they’re supposed to do it without raising confusion, the guards should be taken out before they could fight back, there would be minimal of shooting, and all the workers in here would be dismissed once Jason and Roy took over the place.

There’s no way to get the workers out of here unharmed now; the False Facers had blockaded the entrance, sealed the workers in the firing line. All those workers seemed to be illegal immigrant, quailing at the worktables, looking scared and helpless. The False Facers wouldn’t mind blasting holes in them once the shooting started, they could always just find new labour.

Took a glance around, Jason said to the panther guy, “If Sionis is going to invite us for dinner, he should at least send us a car.”

“We have a car,” the panther guy replied.

“Then what are we waiting for,” he said cheerfully, then turned to Roy who was scowling at him. “Nothing we can do in here, Arsenal. Let’s go and see a freak show.”

Roy squinted his eyes, hands flexed and unflexed indistinctively. There’s a terrible moment when he turned to glance at the False Facers and he seemed like he was going to spit out a “No” then blast his way out with everything he got in his cybernetic arm. It would be a stupid thing to do, but Jason understood it might not be too easy for him, to let himself be taken to somewhere he would be at the mercy of the enemy. He hoped the teen could get a grip of himself, but he wouldn’t blame him if he couldn’t.

Giving Jason another sharp look, the teen jumped down from the worktable, with great reluctance.

“It’s got to be a trap,” Roy grumbled, when Zero and the panther guy came over, handcuffed their hands behind their back and took away their weapons.

“Definitely,” Jason said, and the dirty look Roy shot him was strangely endearing.

Jabbing the kid’s back with the freeze gun, Zero pushed the kid to walk. Jason followed them with the panther guy by his side.

A car pulled up as they stepped out the manufacture centre. The four of them got into the car together. Zero was in the front with the driver; the big cat sat with them in the backseats, leaning on his side of the car door and watched them closely.

They weren’t blindfolded. Jason guessed it wouldn’t matter whether they knew where they’re going or not.

Next to him, the kid was tense. His leg knocked at the kid’s reassuringly, calming him through body contact. Roy looked up at him with a frown, didn’t especially seemed to be feeling better.

The car headed south, the road grew darker as they drove into the hills. Over twenty-five minutes of riding, then he saw a glimmer of light through the windshield. There’s a big house outside, stood aloof in the hill, with no neighbor around.

With the men in the animal masks guarding the house, it seemed like something from a horror movie. They got out the car and walked toward the house under guard. Roy halted at the halfway.

“Move,” the Zero guy growled, shoving the back of his shoulder with the freeze gun. Roy ignored him, kept glaring at the house door that was waiting to engulf them.

“Come on, little Red,” Jason spoke up, taking a few steps to the kid, and making sure no one would mistake the move as anything but an act of conciliation.

“I’m counting on you.”

Quickly, Roy whipped his head to him. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, biting on his teeth for a short moment while he was wavering.

“ _No_ ,” he spat out abruptly, shoulder bumped hard at Jason and knocked him away.

Before anyone could react, the kid leapt with his body folded up, swinging his hands from behind his back to his fount in mid-air. Zero was the first to draw his gun, but the kid was already bolting away in a zigzag.

The panther guy was the one who had the fastest reflexes, he could’ve caught the kid before he started to run if Jason hadn’t stumbled off into him. He pushed Jason aside and intended to chase the kid himself, but his colleague forestalled him.

“Let me,” the guy said with dark pleasure, freeze gun blasting rapidly while he went after the kid. The False Facers around followed suit.

The panther guy turned to Jason once the others were out of sight. Jason tore his eyes away from the direction the kid had disappeared to.

“I tried,” he told the shapeshifter in a dry voice, a regretful smile playing on his lips, which was hiding inside the helmet. Without giving him a word of response, the panther guy walked him into the house.

More False Facers were waiting for him inside. The house was big and ornamented nicely. He saw a picture on a drawer when he walked through the living room. There’re three people in that picture. A little boy stood between a man and a woman, the adults squatted tightly at his sides, all three of them were smiling. He had run a check on all the properties that had once belonged to the Sionis family. There’s no direct relation between Sionis and this house.

He was led into a dinning room. Black Mask was sitting at a spacious table and enjoying his meal. The big guy from last time stood beside him like a colossal statue.

“Come and take a seat,” Sionis picked up a glass of wine and said, looking like a perfect example of a rich psychopath.

He took a quick glance at the interior before sitting down. Three of the False Facers standing at the wall behind Sionis and the giant, three more of them behind Jason and the panther guy, filled up the large dinning room to its capacity. The other henchmen were left outside, ready to bust in at any second when things were going down.

He had already killed a batch of Black Mask’s goons last time. Where did Sionis find this many people who was willing to put on a creepy mask and do his bidding? It was like the number of scumbags in this city had no limit.

The panther guy pulled out a chair for him. He sat down across Sionis, leaning his back comfortably into the chair.

“Nice house,” he commented. Sionis flashed him a shark-like grin.

“Thank you. Mr. Bloom would be glad to hear it.”

“And who is this Mr. Bloom?”

“A mechanical engineer,” Sionis answered, “whose father was a friend of my family. My parents used to force me to play with him. Presumptuous little snot. I hated him.”

“That’s why you took over his home? Because he made you cry when you was a boy?”

“Not entirely.” Sionis took a sip of his wine, then tossed Jason another ugly grin. “Mr. Bloom is going to help me with something,” he said. “Where is your little friend?”

“Why,” Jason quirked an eyebrow, “I thought you’re interested in me.”

“I am,” Sionis nodded in agreement.

“You have been causing me enough trouble. I’ve been waiting for the five families to get together, and I would’ve taken them out that night if it wasn’t for you and the boy. I wanted to kill you, after I skinned you. But then I remember I could really use some great talent by my side. I know you and your young friend have been badgering my business partners, and my friend from the police station told me that you are the one who shot Zsasz. I’m willing to forget all that, if you would make it up to me.”

Letting out an intrigued hum, Jason tipped his head thoughtfully.

“Not that your insistency and generosity aren’t touching, but what makes you think I would take you up on your offer now, if I hadn’t the last time?”

“Last time, you weren’t on the police hate list, now you are. In their eyes, you and I have no difference, and they aren’t wrong.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Rom. Just because we both like to hide our whole faces from people, doesn’t mean we are going to be besties.”

“But you don’t hide your face behind the helmet. Your word, maybe, but not the mask you’ve chosen to wear.”

Sionis regarded him thoroughly, eyes as cutting as his smile.

“You’re showing your true face through it, just as I am showing mine. The true dangerous sides of ourselves we could never show to the world before we put the masks on, before we cast aside the judgment from society, and embrace the brutality that’s in our nature, the violence in our veins. I’ve seen your work, Red Hood, taking out the trash in this city by cold-blooded murder. Though I don’t understand your reason, I could see your thirst, your hungriness for putting this city into order. We have more in common than you think.”

The man knew nothing about him if he thought they’re alike. Jason looked at him unmovingly through the hood.

Sionis had as much common with him as Thomas Elliot had. The two of them were the ones who should really make friends. They would be cute together, being the same type of megalomaniac who thought they were the king of the world, when in truth they’re just two overcompensated rich boys with mental diseases.

Sionis needed the mask to exist, to dose himself with the fantasy that he was something greater than what he was. Peeled off the fearsome black mask, then he was nothing but a trembling mess. On the other hand, Jason didn’t need the hood to transform himself into anything, he could easily fight or kill without it. The hood was just the hood, it might be a message, it might be a memorial, but it wasn’t a false face, or a projector of a true primeval self.

“Unlike you, I don’t put on my helmet because it makes me feel stronger. That’s what the guns for. And let’s be honest, Blacky, you don’t want order in the streets, you just like to be on top. Bet it’s good to feel important. Is not a feeling you usually have when you were a kid, is it?” he said nonchalantly, enjoying the gleam of rage sparked in Sionis’s eyes.

“I offer to be your friend, and again, you insulted me.” The man tightened his hand around the glass of wine.

“I don’t make friends,” Jason replied with a sneer. “So, are we going to get into the next scene where you trying to kill me?”

“Though it would be a great pleasure, I have better plan for you,” Sionis said, teeth flashing ominously.

“The city will be mine, but I need an army for that to happen. When I was looking for the ammunition, I saw the cybernetic arm, it gave me an idea. I intended to build my private army, not just men with weapons, but men who are weapons. While I expend my power in this city, Mr. Bloom is going to help me study the tech, then put it into production. The products might not be as delicate as the prototype, but they would be enough to take everybody down. Soon, all of my False Facers will be turned into living weapons, they will become the greatest force in Gotham, and as their master, no one would dare to defy me.”

The power-crazed mob boss took a draft of the wine, then raised his glass at Jason, “You, Red Hood, are going to become my very first and very best human weapon.”

Jason shook his head in amazement. How long had this guy been off his meds? It seemed like Sionis was even more delusional than he thought.

“You are planning to cut off my arm, then install me with a metal one.” He asked confusedly, “What’s going to stop me from try it out on you?”

“William Wade,” Sionis told him with confidence, “an employee of Wayne Industries. He was a smart man, used to work in my family’s company. He has helped me develop the drug I’ve been manufacturing, something highly addictive, and could be use in mind control.”

Seems like he had it all figured out. Jason snorted internally.

“I have everything ready,” Sionis said, “All I lack is the kid.”

“He’s gone,” Jason shrugged, voice was soft and regrettable.

Sionis lifted his lips into a cruel smile. “My men will bring him back to me. Or just the arm would do,” he simply replied.

Jason was about to say something in return, but the conversation was terminated by a sudden explosion coming from outside the dinning room. Instinctively, everyone turned their attention to the closed door, shocked and confused. Jason shook off the handcuffs the instant they did that.

The panther guy was the first one to recover from the distraction and caught his movement. Jason rolled out the chair, only a fraction of a second before the guy struck him with a sharp claw. He threw the chair at the panther guy from below, blocked the guy off and bought himself the time to get to the closest guard.

Took a hold of the armed man from behind, he directed the man's hand to shoot down the other False Facers who at his side of the room, then spun the man around, continued the gun blasting in one breath. Black Mask had rushed out of the chair since the shooting started, retreated to the corner of the dinning room, with the giant guy keeping him safe.

The panther guy slipped out from the firing line, when Jason and the men from Sionis’s side exchanging fire. One of the bullets punched through Jason’s armor and grazed his arm, the man he was puppeteering took all the fatal ones.

The dead guy could only take so many bullets for him. Needing to pull some distance, his hand reached behind his back, emptied the magazine as he pulled open the door and walked backward into the living room that was also filled with the sound of gun blasting.

Noticed his presence, one of the False Facers from across the room turned to point the gun at him. He saw it in the corner of his eyes, but he was occupied by the men who came out the dinning room, he couldn’t do anything about it. A flash of beam, then the man’s hand was knocked aside by the forceful blow, the gun went off, but the bullet only tore a hold in Jason’s cape, instead of his body.

“What took you so long,” he said, let go of the tattered body he had been using as a shield. The gun in the man’s hand was empty, he left it with the dead guy, reaching out his hand to catch the rifle that had been thrown at his way.

“I went to the train station,” Roy told him while blasting at the False Facers, “but the ticket to Los Angeles has sold out. Then I caught in the traffic on my way back.” He sounded serious, like he wasn’t smirking.

“Why Los Angeles.”

“Why wouldn’t anyone want to go to somewhere warm and sunny?” the kid retorted, stunned down three men in one go. There’s a gun aiming at his back, Jason yanked the kid to his side right before the gunshot was heard. The bullet flew through its course and went into the wall, as the same moment Jason directed the rifle at the False Facer and blasted him down.

All the False Facers on scene were either dead or unconscious, but the fight was far from over. The panther guy pounced upon him, knocking Jason down on the blood-stained floor and startled the kid in the process. Guarding by the giant guy, Black Mask was looking for escape. Instantly, Roy turned his target from the human panther to the mob boss, immobilized him with a blast in the leg before he could go anywhere.

The giant turned around and rushed to the kid, once his boss had fallen down with a cry. The kid fired fiercely, lightened up the room with the laser beam. The man caught the blasting with his large, thick body, without a bit wavered.

“What have they fed you,” Roy queried sharply, horrified by the human truck that was crashing at his way. “We should swap,” he said to Jason, who had gotten the rifle knocked out of his grip and had to fight the shapeshifter hand-to-hand.

“Yeah? You like cat?”

“Better than a brick wall,” Roy grumbled, almost got his skull cracked open by a tremendous fist.

Landing a vicious blow on the shapeshifter’s face, Jason leapt at the big guy, knocking him off balance and looped an arm around his neck. The panther guy recovered from the blow and tried to come at Jason again, but a blast caught him in the mid-air. He tossed his head just in time to diminish the stun.

The big guy rose up with Jason attaching on his back, swung about wildly, clashing Jason into the wall. The crush was terrible, and the big guy did it again when Jason wouldn’t get off his back.

He was sure he had at least three broken bones, but he managed to keep his hold steady, breathing evenly and focused at his own movement, narrowed his mind at the goal, instead of the pain, washed down the agony with the sweet hot adrenaline.

The big guy tried to raise his hands and pry Jason’s arm away, but the tricky lock Jason had on him fixed his arms behind his back, and the more he tried to move his arms, the more the loop on his neck tightened, suffocating him until his face turned gray.

Eventually, the giant fell down in a thud. In the meantime, the panther guy was jumping about in evasion, dodging the shots Roy was firing at him, and gaining closer and closer with every nimble leap.

The strike was fast and savage, Roy could barely raise his cybernetic arm to fend off the claws. Another swing tore open his uniform, left an angry mark from his left shoulder to the middle of his chest.

Once Jason had confirmed that the giant had stopped breathing, he loosened his arms, hauled his body to walk and picked up a handgun from one of the False Facers on the floor.

As the moment the panther guy pinned the kid down, Jason cocked the gun, took a clean shot at the guy before he could swing his claws.

Pushed off the dead body, Roy sat up on the floor. Jason reached out a hand to pull him up.

“I don’t like cat anymore,” the teen grunted, looking down to check on the large cut.

Unsurprisingly, Sionis was missing from the living room. They went outside the house, finding Black Mask hobbling halfway toward a car.

Jason raised the gun he brought out with him, and fired a shot loosely. The bullet went into the man’s back, toppled him down to the ground.

The men rolled around from his side onto his back, still trying to lift the gun in his hand when Jason walked toward him. The first shot missed, then a beam of laser hit him in the arm, forcing him to loosen his grip. Jason kicked away the dropped gun. Refused to give up, Sionis pulled something out of his pants pocket. Jason caught his hand and took away the syringe before the man could stab him with it.

Was it the lethal injection that killed two innocent people along with Zsasz, or was it the poison he sold on the street? Jason looked at the syringe and wondered. He could’ve found out the answer by using it on Sionis, but he decided to leave it. If that was the drug, he wouldn’t want Sionis to die in a trance. The man deserved to die clear-headed, knowing he had everything in coming.

“I will rise again,” Sionis snarled at him.

In some way, he probably would. Not him, precisely, but some other freaks such as Arkham who was drawn to the nightmare and inherited the mask. There’re always so many of them, swarming up from the bottomless pit, and there’re so little exterminators.

“If I see your ugly face again, I’m just gonna shoot you again,” Jason told him, before putting a bullet between his eyes.

He turned around to Roy, who was standing a few steps behind with a plain face. Feeling the attention, the green eyes gazed up from the dead body to Jason. The cut on the kid's body was still dripping blood, but it wasn’t as bad as the one Jason had gotten before. The kid didn’t seem anything besides tired.

Let’s go home. Jason was about to say, when a freeze gun blasted at their direction, grazed the kid in his right arm.

The flank of the artificial arm was iced up, but the arm wasn’t damaged.

“I believe that one is for you,” he said to Roy with a quirked eyebrow, while watching the man who seemed to be holding himself up solely by resentment.

The guy was faltering in the night like a ghost of a dead soldier, wobbling out from a combat zone and starving for the blood of his enemy. Clearly, he was injured, but Jason didn’t think he was in any mortal danger.

“I swear the guy is like a bad penny,” Roy grumbled. The frosted arm rose up and returned a few shot, knocked the guy down to the ground. He walked to the guy, took away the freeze gun with his left hand and halted the guy by pointing the laser at his forehead.

Jason watched them from behind. “You want to get rid of him, you got to get rid of him properly,” he suggested.

The guy sat up slowly on the ground, glaring at Roy with his jaw tightened in anger. Roy regarded him for a moment. The laser could easily punch through the man’s skull if he wanted.

He lifted the freeze gun and blasted the man’s legs, prevented him from wandering off.

“The police could take care of him.”

Packed up the gun, he turned around and headed back to Jason.

It was a mistake.

Some of the False Facers could live, until next time; but that guy was someone who really should be put down, Jason didn’t need to see a rap sheet to know that.

Without any of them noticing, the man heaved up his upper body, and pulled out a handgun under the jacket he was wearing. Jason was going to put him down, but the man pulled the trigger first.

When he heard the gunshot, his gun wasn’t even lifted yet. He caught the wavered body with his arms before Roy fell over, _then_ he shot the man in his face.

He should’ve killed him sooner.

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

The bullet lodged in deep and the location of it was slightly challenging, but fortunately, it didn’t seem to impale anything crucial. She extracted the bullet with great cautious and efficiency. There’s a bleed out once the bullet was removed, she stopped the bleeding quickly and managed to bring the vital signs back to normal.

After stitching up the wound on the right side of the middle back, she gave the whole back another check, to see if there’re other injuries she needed to attend to. She found some bruises on the back, some were fading and some appeared to be brand new, but she detected no fracture.

With the man’s help, she turned the teen from his side onto his back. The upper part of the teen’s costume had been removed. The red mark, which seemed to have come from some sort of animal attack, extended from his left shoulder to his chest. Though the cut was large, it was only skin deep. Patching up the cut, she then ripped off the blood-soaked gloves, tossed them into the trash can and went to scrub her hands.

The unknown man, who had come with a cape and a helmet, had the tattered cape removed after she had told him to put on the medical gloves, but still had the helmet on his head. “Is he going to be okay, doctor?” he asked from the side of the operating table, taking off the gloves slowly and threw them out.

For a second, she thought about lying. Though she couldn’t see the face, but it was clear that the man was staring at the unconscious boy, possibly intently. She wondered what their relation was.

“I’ll need to run some scans later, to see if there’s any damage to the internal organs, and I’ll have to keep him a few days for observation. But I think he’ll make a full recovery,” she replied with plain professionalism, dried her hands with paper towel before she turned to face the masked man.

“Thank you, doctor.”

She responded in a curt nod. “Now, about you,” she said, picked up a pair of new gloves and moving away from the sink.

“What about me.”

“I’m a doctor. You think I didn’t notice you’re injured?” She gestured to the chairs beside the instrument table. “Sit down, I’ll give you a look.”

“Don’t bother, doc, it’s nothing life threatening. I’ll take care myself when I get home.”

“I’m sorry, are you a doctor?” she retorted dryly. “I thought your only medical experience is just you being injured a lot. So why don’t you sit down and let me do my job.”

The man stared at Leslie for a moment; then, to her confusion, he broke the silence by letting out a huff of chuckle.

“Yes, ma’am,” said the man good-naturedly, sitting down on one of the chairs and started to remove his armor.

“While you’re at it, take off your helmet too if you won’t mind. You’ll look ridiculous in it without your clothes on.” She put on the gloves, sitting on the other chair before the man and drew the instrument table closer to herself. Huffed out another chuckle, the man did as she suggested.

The red helmet was put on the table. She took a glance at the man’s face, unsurprised to see the black domino that clearly wasn’t going anywhere. “So much for open honesty between doctor and patient,” she remarked scornfully, and met with a small upsweep of lips.

“It’s nothing personal, Dr. Thompkins. It’s just my face is hardly relevant.”

“Then why don’t you show me? Afraid I’ll describe the color of your eyes to the police sketcher?” she said, while attending the bullet graze on the man’s arm.

“In our line of work, you gotta be careful. Especially around people,” the man replied offhandedly with a small charming smile.

He looked younger than Leslie had thought. She had kind of expected someone around Bruce’s age, not Dick’s. The man was tall and strong-built like Bruce, dark hair hinted with a streak of unnatural silver. He was a handsome young man, with a fine set of feature that wasn’t aristocratic as Bruce or affable as Dick, but sharp and flinty, looking tough in a worldly way. There’s something edgy about him, and despite the good-nature of it, the way he smiled still passed off a bit cynical.

“How old are you.”

“I’m in my adulthood,” the young man answered slyly.

“And how old is he?” she tipped her head, hinting at the red-haired boy who didn’t seem any more than sixteen.

Turned to the teen’s direction, he went silent for a few seconds. “He’s resourceful.” He turned back to Leslie.

“That’s not what I’m asking,” Leslie countered, starting to check the bruises all over the man’s chest. Just like the teen, some of them were fading, but those that weren’t appeared to be troublesome.

The smile on the man’s lips turned strained under her touches. The rib fractures he was suffering should’ve made him hard to move, yet he had been helping her out with the teen for about an hour like those were nothing. She didn’t know she should be impressed or call the asylum.

“You are good with pain.”

“It’s just pain. It happened, you get used to it,” he said, then added humorously, “What is life without pain anyway.”

“So you’re a philosopher. Or a comedian,” remarked with a snort, she left the chair and went to the cabinet in search for the drug.

“If I wrap up your chest, it could help with the pain, but it would also increase the chance of pneumonia. So let’s just give you a corticosteroid injection to reduce the pain and the inflammation.”

“That won’t be necessary,” he reached out at her promptly as she came back to him with the syringe, grasping her lifted wrist in a light but firm hold.

“No offense, doc, but I don’t feel comfortable with needles.”

“You think I’d poison you?”

He flashed her a lopsided smirk that made him look more of a big boy than a young man. She had a suspicious feeling that maybe it’s exactly what he was.

“I trust that you’ll never hurt a single soul, Dr. Thompkins. But I think you’d happily dose Batman out of his ass if you think that would get him out of trouble,” he said it as though he had known her personally. She put down the syringe once her wrist was released.

“I’ll put some ice on it. It’ll be fine,” he told her, clearly knew how to handle the rib fractures.

There’s nothing more that needed her medical specialty. While the man was putting his suit back on, she asked, “What have you and the boy been doing before you came here, what is your relation.”

“Am I in an interrogation, doctor?” the masked man tilted his head in a curious manner.

She would gladly leave the questioning to someone else, if she could put the man down with the drug and give Dick a call, so he could find out what the hell was going on. Too bad it’s not happening.

“You brought a badly injured boy to my clinic in the middle of the night. What are you expecting.”

“Fair point,” he muttered, pulling the suit over his chest carefully. “We were in a fight against some terrible people. The kid and I are a team.”

“A team of vigilante? Or something else?”

“I can’t say for the kid, but I wouldn’t call myself a vigilante,” he said, “But I’m also not something that people like you will need to worry about.”

“People like me,” she looked at him intriguingly, “What kind of person do you think I am.”

“The good kind,” he turned his lips into a smile, “which is exactly why I wouldn’t have come to you if I have a choice. You are a good person, Dr. Thompkins, and I know how you feel about vigilantism, or seeing teenager being brought into a war.”

“You sound like you know a lot about me.”

“We’ve crossed path before,” he replied lightly. “I understand how you might want to do something about the kid, but I’ll appreciate it if you just leave it.”

That’s easy to say.

She inspected him for a moment, before she started slowly, “Do you know how many times I’ve seen a child who should be at school has injured—or even died—in a battle they have no business getting into?”

“Trust me, I know.”

“But if you really know, then how can you tell me to ‘leave it’, or even brought a teenager into a gunfight in the first place,” she retorted coldly. “Did you train him?”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t dare to take credit for that,” he replied with a sneer. “He’s been all trained when I found him. I was just there to uh…pick up the good.”

“Where are his parents?”

“Dead. And no relatives,” he said. “There’re some guys, but even if he does go back to them, he’ll still pretty much be doing the same thing with them as he does with me.”

“And the arm? What happened to his arm.”

“Lost it to some bad people, but he managed to find a new one, as you can see.”

Turned to look at the teen who was lying unconscious on the operating table, the young man told her, “I understand your concern, doc. But he’s a tough boy, and for a tough boy like that, there’re only so little options.”

“There’re plenty of options,” she countered strongly.

“I’ve seen people in horrible condition, and they managed to do their best to build up a decent life. You know the problem with you costumes?” She made a loose gesture at him and his gray armor suit. “You often think this—dressing up and fighting—is some kind of a job. It isn’t. Just because you’ve self-appointed yourself, that doesn’t make you a police officer, which, is a real job. You make your life out of your job, you don’t make any life out of lawless violence. Especially not in such young age.”

She might’ve come out too strong, but she couldn’t help herself. The event tonight brought up some thoughts—some memories—in her head.

She remembered how worry she had been for Bruce when she had first found out what he had been doing. She remembered the frustration, the disappointment, the anxiousness. She remembered those boys and girls throughout the years; there’s one who had died brutally in a foreign country, and there’s one who she had had to fake her death just so she could start a new life that wouldn’t eventually get her killed; both of them were young and didn’t know better.

Someone should’ve known better. She had blamed Bruce for what had happened to Stephanie. Like any young mind, the girl had been foolish, and that’s exactly why someone should think better for them, to keep them out of harm’s way, not introduce them into a crusade. You don’t trust children to make wise choices just because they could fly over buildings and fight people twice as their size.

Sadly, adults didn’t often make wise choices either. Years ago, she had blamed herself; and to these days, she still was blaming herself for Bruce, who had just died a while ago.

If only she could cure the damaged heart of that young boy. If only she could heal the wound that had been created by the lost of his parents. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was responsible, that she had failed him and the Wayne couple. She was an experienced doctor, and yet, she had been unable to lift the pain in Bruce.

Despite his iron will and his good intention, in her eyes, she saw only so little difference between him and most of the people she had seen in her long years of practicing, the people who poisoned themselves with alcohol, with narcotic, with fight, those were nothing but symptoms, of an unhealed heart or an infected mind, cured the disease, then all of those problems shall go away. She wanted nothing more but to do that, but there’s no curing someone if the patient refused to receive any sorts of treatment.

“I’m sure some people have told you that how there’re countless of criminals, and that how sometimes people have to take the responsibility and do what they do to stop them,” the masked man replied casually, “I can’t speak for other costumes, Dr. Thompkins, because I’m not like any other costumes you might have in mind. But to me, violence is always life. You don’t make it to be, it just is. The kid and I are good at fighting, so that’s what we do.”

“People are good at something because they have learnt to do so.”

“Maybe, but not necessarily,” he said. “You could teach people thing, but they won’t always have the enthusiasm or the talent to be good at it. Not every karate kids are meant to be a fighter, just like how that not all people are suited to be a medical student. You’ve got to have what it takes. Then if you’re really good at something, that’s what you’ll do.”

The indifference in his tone irritated her, she looked at him unmovingly. “That boy—” her hand swayed out at the young patient, “—has been shot by a gun. I don’t care if he’s excellent at fighting or that he’s a nature-born fighter, if the bullet hit him just a little differently, I might not be able to save him. He could’ve died. Does it seem okay to you?”

“No,” he turned his eyes to the boy. The casualness he had been presenting vanished in a flash. Without a trace of it behind, his feature became stony.

She regarded him carefully. It’s good that he did seem to understand how serious this was, but she didn’t exactly like the dark look on his face. “I don’t know what your stories are,” she said, “but it’s clear to me that the boy needs help, and so do you if you think violence is life.”

Kept staring at the teen for a moment, he then returned his eyes to Leslie. “I know right now I can’t move him,” regardless to her words, he suddenly said, “but could you do me a favor, doc? Could you not tell anyone about him while he’s here?”

“He’s a minor with a gunshot wound, I should call someone in.”

“If you do that, it’ll only complicate things.”

He regarded her in thought. “There’re buildings in different districts all around this city, rigged with C4. It’s my precaution, incase I’d ever need to make a run,” he informed her plainly. “All the buildings are empty, and they’re not in the busy street. But if any of them blows up, there might be casualties.”

Realized what he was doing, Leslie scowled at the masked man incredulously. “Are you threatening me?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he apologized. “But I need you to keep him off the grid. Kid won’t be happy if he wakes up with social workers vulturing at his bed, and I don’t want Batman to butt in.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“If it makes you feel any better, you are welcome to talk to the kid when he wakes up, see if he’d want to do something else instead of wearing the costume.”

“And if he does decided he doesn’t want to put on a costume anymore?”

“Then you are free to do what you see fit.”

Picked up the helmet he had left on the table, the young man stood up and went to the operating table. “Take care of him, doctor,” he said.

With a hand stroking the teen gently in his cheek, he stared at the boy for a moment before headed to leave.

 

***

 

When he waked up, his back was soaking with sweat.

Hand running over his face, he inhaled as deep as he could with his rib fractures. It wasn’t one of those dreams that had a clown or a crowbar or even fists in it, no one had determined to beat him into pulp, so it wasn’t especially brutal.

It had started as a memory, the night he had come home after gotten some groceries with the money he had found in the stolen wallets. He had walked into the house, the small little apartment with fast-food trash scattered on the table, clothes lay in a huddle on the couch and piles of dirty dishes stinking in the sink.

He had called out for the woman while shrugging off his jacket and putting the groceries down. There had been no response inside the house, he had taken a look at the bedroom where she should be lying in rest, since the cough she had been having had become a serious problem and she had been too sick to work. But the woman hadn’t been on her bad, in fact, the woman hadn’t been at home at all.

Pulled open her drawer, he had seen the supplies had run out. He hated the thought of it, but it would only be easy to imagine she was going out for a fix. And his suspicious had been confirmed when he had found the emergency money had been missing from the old cookie jar.

He had put the jacket back on and gone to find her dealer. Apparently, she had come to the man just a few hours ago and used all the money for the junk.

“Your ol’ mama looked like shit. I think she’s sick, son, you should keep an eye on her,” the man had said to him in a drunken tone, getting friendly from whatever kicks he had been having. And for a second, he had wanted to hit the slime in his face.

 _She wouldn’t be so sick if you’d just stop killing her with the junk._ He had wanted to spit out, but the man was twice his size and he had people who wouldn’t mind beating shit out of some kid, so instead he had said, “Yeah, thanks man. Have a good evening.”

It had been hours since she had left her dealer. Normally, she would keep herself together until she had reached home, but clearly she had been desperate for a fix, she couldn’t wait for a moment longer but enjoying herself somewhere on the street.

When he was looking for her, one of her work buddies had been on the street waiting for customers. He had asked the woman, and she had told him that she had seen her stumbling into an alley nearby.

The phantom sound of coughing ringing in his ears as he had walked toward the alley, it had rattled something in his guts, something bad and horrifying. He had tried his best to push it down, then he had reached into the dark alley that had been stinking with trash.

The moment he had seen her, his skin had been crawled. It was just her reclining on the ground, several steps away from him. But he could sense it, the absent of life. And his breath hitched.

“No,” he had stumbled toward her. Knees landed on the ground, he had fallen down before the woman, hands reaching out to move her up. She wasn’t big, she was practically a skeleton, but the deadweight of her unresponsive body had made it hard for him to pull her up with his young arms.

“Mom?”

She didn’t respond to his shaking voice.

“No no no, please, mom, don’t do this to me,” he had begged her, even more earnest than every time he had begged her to give up the junk. He would ask, and she would say, “ _I’m good._ ” She hadn’t been good.

“No.”

Her head had lolled aside when he had pulled up her upper body, holding her tight against him. His face was wet, and his chest was tightened, leaving no room for him to breath. He should have saved her, if only he had done something a long time ago.

If he could find a way to pull her out of the suffer sooner, to stop the man from beating her up every single day, instead of just wait for it to stop, then maybe, maybe she wouldn’t have ended up so broken beyond repair. Maybe she could still be healed.

Suddenly, he had felt a movement. One of the drooped arms of hers had twitched and lifted. “Mom?” Feeling a hand clutched the side of his clothes, he pulled away slightly, with hope filling his heart.

It had seemed oddly familiar, the way the hand clutched at him. And he could hear the pained gasps coming from the body in his arms. It was like how it was the moment he had caught the boy. He had come to realize, but not until he had heard the sudden gunshot.

Startled by the unexpected sound, he had dropped his gaze in confusion. One of his hands had run over the carroty head, while the other one had lifted up from the back of the dying body, bringing up a handful of red.

Lying on the bed right now, he stared at his lifted hand for a moment, as though he could still see the blood on it. His mind strayed to the thought of the woman, who hadn’t actually died a bloody death but just a miserable one. Though he wasn’t her real kid, the woman had never said a word about it. She was hardly a good parent, basically an irresponsible deadbeat, but she had loved him as much as she could, as best as she could, never seemed to have thought of him as anything but her own.

Dreaming about her was kind of having the same effect as dreaming about being beaten to pulp. They were all shitty, and had a way to make him feel like sometimes there’s just nothing he could do, because even with everything he got, with all the skills he possessed, he was still powerless against some bigger things.

He was having an excessive urge to crash something, or some people, but with the fractures he got, his options of movement were pretty much limited.

He dropped his hand, landing it on the empty side of the bed. Without any real thoughts, his hand was feeling the space where it should be occupied by some little redhead who had trouble sleeping alone and appeared to have been using him as a security blanket. He hadn’t come to realize how quiet the room could be, without the sound of the steady breathing, which was kind of hypnotic.

 _If the bullet hit him just a little differently_. Dr. Thompkins had said to him, as though he was the one to blame, for bringing the kid into this mess. But it wasn’t him who had made a fighter out of the kid.

Maybe with a slight change of event, the Roy Harper he knew could’ve been something else. He might’ve ended up dead a long time ago if he hadn’t met the Green Arrow, or he might’ve become a criminal, or someone who lived in a beautiful house with white picket fence and had a successful career.

Maybe with a slight change of event, he would be something else too, something rather than what he was now. If he hadn’t run into Bruce, he might’ve still been beaten to death by some street gang, or he might’ve become a god-awful villain, or maybe he could somehow pull his ass out of the street and become a lawyer or something. Who the fuck knew and who the fuck cared. What’s done was done. You’re on the path you had been setting on, you could either walk it or you don’t. For some people, the choices really weren’t much.

He didn’t think for a second that Dr. Thompkins could be able to show the kid a better way, Roy was just as deep in this as him. There’s nothing Leslie could do, but there’s something Jason could.

What happened to the kid was not okay, and someone had to do something.

The kid wouldn’t get shot if Jason had handled the Zero guy himself. But he wouldn’t take responsibility for that, just as he could take no responsibility for the teen’s fighting skill. In fact, he took no responsibility for Roy at all. He could watch the teen’s back, but he couldn’t watch it all the times. Roy had to know what he got to know, that the bad guys wouldn’t give you a chance just because you gave them one.

He had thought Roy had started to know that, but apparently he didn’t.

The vicious pain in his ribs was rising. Pulling himself up slowly, Jason walked out the room, going to the fridge and found himself some ice.

Once he entered the living space, he met with an unpleasant silence. Usually, it wouldn’t draw his attention. He was used to the place being quiet, with him as the only source of sound, so it wasn’t exactly the quiet that bothered him, it was the absent of noises.

He suddenly realized that he and the little Red hadn’t been separated for more than a few hours ever since they had met. Putting an ice bag over his chest, he went to turn on the TV, then slumping onto the couch.

Before the kid had started sleeping, Jason noticed he had had a habit of leaving the TV on all night, even though he wasn’t watching it but occupying himself with something else. When the noises from the TV filled the place, he kind of came to understand why.

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

The images emerged in blur. He didn’t have the memory of opening his eyes, couldn’t even recall when he had closed them.

Next to the place where he was lying flat on, he sensed a presence. He tried to turn his head around and gave it a look, but his head wasn’t moving. None of him was moving. Not his limbs, not his whole being. It was a white ceiling above him, and that’s all he could see. The cleanness of the white was way too familiar for his comfort, and there’s the smell. The smell of a hospital.

At first, he thought he was in the infirmary at the Hall. There’re times before he had fully awoke, and he could see among the whiteness that there’re glimpses of people checking up on him, hear them talking about him. _What’s his status_ , mostly that’s what they had been talking about.

He didn’t understand what those people had been saying, he didn’t understand why he would be on a hospital bed in the first place. He had thought those were merely dreams, because nothing had made sense at that stage. He had caught glimpses of Ollie at some point; when the man had realized he had been staring puzzledly at him, he had leaned in closely, with an earnest look on his face and with his hand on Roy’s head. “ _It’s okay,_ ” his mentor had reassured him in a husky voice, “ _You’re safe now._ ” It had made no sense, because he didn’t even know what was going on, so why would he not be?

At some points, there also had been a red-haired young man who seemed to be in his late-twenties, about the same height as Oliver and had the same sort of nimble muscle and a pair of strong arms. He was a good-looking guy, who seemed he could charm his way through everywhere with a right smile if his face hadn't been crinkle in grief as he did at the moment. When the guy had looked at him, Roy could read the guilt and the sadness on his face, just like what he could see on Ollie’s. His eyes were gentle, and they’re green in a way that had given him goose bumps. Roy hadn’t figured out why, but the guy had looked familiar, even scarily so.

A woman’s face entered his sight, followed by a small flashlight that was waving above his half-lidded eyes. The face was unknown, then when the flashlight turned off in a click, he finally came to realize that the white ceiling he was stuck to looking at wasn’t the same ceiling in the Hall infirmary.

He was lying immobilized on some hospital bed, with a stranger checking for his status. He couldn’t feel any of his limbs, as if they were _missing (“No.”)_.

A machine started beeping rabidly from somewhere. “You need to calm down,” the woman was saying to him, and he wanted to tell the stranger how he will not calm down, how he will not be taken and ruined again.

If he was taken and ruined again, no one would even know, no one would even look for him because no one would even care. The world would just move on without him, as though he wasn’t a part of it ( _He was never a part of it. Brave Bow had never said it, but he knew, the way the people had shut him out, the murmur behind his back. The house was his place he was being a part of, but the house had been burnt down_ ).

He tried to protest, but he couldn’t find his voice. Had the arm and the years not been enough? Did they have to take his voice too?

“Calm down,” the woman told him again. “You need to rest.” She was reaching for something. Roy saw a flash of IV tube that was grasped by the woman. A surge of fuzziness flooded his mind, the world started fading away and there’s nothing he could do.

 

***

 

Feeling the heaviness of his own body, he opened his eyes with a groan slipped out his throat. There’s the white ceiling he felt like he had already seen it couple of times in what might be the dreams. But unlike those times, now he could actually tell that it was real, and that he was in some sort of sick-room.

His head moved when he turned it aside. There’s a monitor at his bed and he was hooked up to an IV. Someone must have been keeping him under sedative, he could vaguely recall he had repeatedly woken up and faded again before he could put his head together.

He tried to call back his memory, thought about what had happened before he had been taken by the nothingness. He had been in a fight with the big Red, he remembered. They had been brought to Black Mask and they had taken the bad guys down. Then he had been shot.

“Don’t die on me, Red,” Jason had said after taken him into a car. The guy had been driving at a car-racing speed with one hand, while his other hand had reached to Roy and keeping him steady on the front passenger seat. “I’ll have arrows all over my ass if you died on my watch.” He swore that the guy was an idiot.

“Then try not to crash the car, Toretto,” he had managed through clinched teeth.

“You’re criticizing my driving skill right now? Seriously?”

“I wouldn’t need to…if your driving…isn’t so…horrible.”

“Are you calling Batman a horrible driver? ‘Cause he was the one who taught me to drive like this.”

“Bull,” he had muttered, feeling lightheaded from the blood lost. The guy had given his shoulder a small squeeze. That’s the last thing he could remember.

With his left arm lying at his side, attaching to the IV, he lifted his right hand thoughtlessly in an attempt to pull away the cover. A sudden dread came over him before he could actually touch the fabric. He didn’t sense anything different from his own limbs, but he also didn’t sense anything different when he had tried to move his hand the first time back at the Hall, didn’t realized how it was gone before he had glanced down and seen the emptiness that had made his hair stood on its end.

Eyes darted at his right side abruptly, he swallowed down the lump in his throat and relaxed a little once he had seen the cybernetic arm. The tech didn’t appear to have any damages, its fingers raised at his command, nothing unusual except the weight of it seemed to be slightly heavier due to his state of weakness.

He pulled the cover away and dragged himself into sitting. There’re some discomforts creeping in his back, not exactly painful, probably because he was still on drug. He looked around and found himself alone in a small room with a locked window. It was night outside, and he could see the view of the district. The place looked normal, but the fact that he wasn’t stored in some secret lab at some secret location wasn’t enough to put him at ease.

Where was Jason?

Before he could hop off the bed, the door was opened. An old woman in a white coat stepped into the room with an instrument cart.

“Don’t get off the bed,” she took a look at him then warned strongly. Roy scowled and inspected her with caution. The old lady seemed a bit stern, but not exactly evil-looking.

“Where am I?”

“You’re in my clinic.”

Bringing the cart at his bed, she pulled out a small flashlight, tipping his head upward and flashing the light at his face. He grunted in discomfort but cooperated.

The lady told him, “A young man brought you in. You’ve been shot.”

“How long have I been here? The guy who brought me in, where is he?”

“You’ve been here for three days,” she ignored the second question, which got him a bit concerned. “What’s your name?”

He thought for a second, highly aware that his face was naked, and that he wasn’t in the suit but wearing a hospital gown. The lady doctor didn’t seem to know much about him, it probably would be smarter if he kept it that way. “William,” he replied, just to be careful. “What’s yours, doc?”

The doctor smiled at him. “Leslie Thompkins. Nice to meet you, William.”

“Nice to meet you, doc,” he returned a half-hearted smile. “So, how am I’m doing, Dr. Lee?”

“Let’s take a look,” she announced, settled him down carefully and turned him onto his side.

The gauze on his back was removed, he felt a small sting when the doctor examined the wound with a pair of gloved hands.

“Your wound is healing, no sign of infection so far. And the scans showed you have no internal injuries,” the doctor said, while putting a new gauze over his wound. “Give it a few weeks, then you’ll be up and running again.”

“That sounds great,” he said. “So does that mean I can be discharged now?”

“No,” the doctor denied simply, giving his back a small, gentle pat before pulling away.

“But you said I’m fine.” He sat up on the bed, turning to face the woman. Dr. Thompkins regarded him with a pair of incisive eyes, ripping off the gloves and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“How long have you been doing the thing you do with the costume?” she asked.

He considered for a moment whether or not he should just play dumb and pretend he had no idea what she meant by that. “Years,” eventually, he decided to answer.

“And how often do you get hurt?”

“Not too often,” he looked at the woman cautiously, not sure where this was heading but quite sure he didn’t like it. “I normally do better than this, I just…” made a mistake, “—I was caught by surprise,” he explained with a shrug, trying to shake off the disapproving look Ollie was giving him from his own imagination.

 _I taught you better than this, Roy_. The boss would’ve given him the look and said, just like whenever he had missed a target.

The doctor stared at him with a frown. “’Not too often’,” she parroted sarcastically. “I think all your cuts and bruises speak otherwise.”

“Everyone has some cuts and bruises. It’s nothing, doc.”

“Those are not nothing. The cuts, the bruises, that _bullet wound_ , they are not nothing. And your arm--” the doctor halted and took a deep breath. “You can’t do this anymore, William, it’s not good for you.”

“You don’t know me,” he countered in a grunt.

“You are underage, that’s all I need to know. You should be at school, young man, not fighting people wearing a costume,” the doctor said relentlessly. “Don’t you have something else you want to do?”

“No,” he shrugged. “Fighting the bad guys is what I do. It's all I want to do.”

“Just because someone taught you to do that, doesn’t mean that’s all you could ever do.”

“I know,” he said, “but I love doing that.”

He had once busted his ass going through all the training. It was good time, actually, with the Green Arrow being around teaching him all sorts of things, just like his time with Brave Bow back in the days when the old man had taught him about archery, but even more exciting. And the more he learned the more eager he was to put those skills into use, to test them, to prove himself to be a good student because he knew that he was a good student, because he knew he had it in him.

After the first time he had hit a target under Brave Bow’s guidance, he had stopped dreaming about fire. “ _You have a talent, son,_ ” the old chief had said, making him realize he might still have something in this world after all. But the first time he was on the field and taking the criminals down at Ollie’s side, he had become a part of something. He was someone who would and could stop the criminals and help the innocent people, that’s his role in this world, and it was Ollie the _Green Arrow_ who passed him that role, kind of like a father would a son.

He was doing the good thing. And the high spiking adrenalin, he wouldn’t even know how to live without it.

“Just because you love doing something that doesn’t make it a good thing for you to do,” the doctor said. “You might be thinking you are doing something good, something important, but what you are really doing is help spreading the violence. I have seen enough, I know how addictive it could be, the rush from the fights, the thrill, the excitement. And like all things addictive, eventually, it’ll be your death.”

“Not if I’m being smart about it,” he muttered, pondering for a second before applied, “Everything could be the death of someone, doc. If I let that scare me, I might as well just hide in a bunker.” He would’ve been as good as dead anyway, if the older Roy hadn’t found him; or he could’ve died a long time ago if Brave Bow hadn’t pulled him out the house.

The doctor shook her head. “You seem to be a smart boy, William, why do you have to be so stupid? You could be at school, learning and making friends, preparing yourself for the life you could build in the future.”

“This is my life,” he replied. “And I have friend. The tall guy, I think.” He was getting tired of this. Seriously, where was Jason?

“The tall guy you said is putting you in danger,” the doctor stated. “You don’t need to go back to him. If you haven't got anyone to turn to, I could help with that.”

She made him sound like a DV victim, which was just stupid. “This has nothing to do with the guy. He didn’t put the bullet in me, some bad guy did,” he replied dismissively. “And you saved me, right? So you’ve already helped, Dr. Lee.”

“I just wish I could do more.” The old doctor looked sad, and he felt sorry for her. She seemed to be a really good person.

“I think that’s exactly why we put on the costumes,” he said thoughtfully. “You have your white coat, doc, and I have mine. We all want to help and do something. The tall guy wants it too.”

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Dr. Lee stood away from the bed. “Let’s just get some rest, young man,” she told him. “We’ll talk again later.”

“’Kay,” he nodded in agreement.

Waited till the doctor exited the room, he dropped the placid look on his face, yanked off the IV on his arm and dragged himself off the bed. He felt weak all over, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him from leaving. The doctor seemed nice, but he hated sick-room.

The widow was opened before he could get to it. The sight of the guy was strangely comforting. For a moment, he had kind of suspected the big guy might’ve just ditched him after bringing him to the doctor .

Jason climbed in slowly, moving a bit stiffer than usual. He wasn’t in his suit but in his civvies, with the red motorcycle helmet covering his face. “I do believe the doctor just told you to get some rest,” he said while removing the helmet. Roy squinted at him with suspicion.

“How long have you been out there?”

“A while. Wanted to check up on you, but you and Dr. Thompkins were talking.”

“So you just hide until she left? Why, does she scare you, Jay?”

“She’s a scary woman, Roy, and I’m already getting on her bad side. I will not risk getting a reproach, not even for you,” the guy deadpanned.

“You are a real charmer,” Roy rolled his eyes. “Let’s just get out of here.” He walked toward the window, but the big guy stopped him by grasping lightly at his shoulder.

“Uh, I don’t think so.”

Roy scowled at him. “The lady said I’m fine, my wound is healing. I don’t really need to stay in a sick-room.”

“Yeah?” the guy smirked, regarding him amusedly with his eyebrows raising. “But since none of us is in any good of parkouring right now, how long do you suppose we could go until getting stopped by the cops, with you riding on my bike wearing an open-backed hospital gown?”

“Speak for yourself, big guy. I could parkour just fine,” he countered defensively. And the only achievement of that was to deepen the smirk on Jason’s face.

“Really, so you don’t need me to go home and bring you some clothes.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say I mind that.”

Seeing his mouth broke into a sly smirk, Jason snorted in false exasperation.

“Just wait in here, you little idiot,” the big guy said, hand moved up to his cheek without thought.

He didn’t even know he have been starving for it until the warmth brushed his face like a soft, soothing wave. Roy leaned into it for a moment with his eyes dropped close.

“Let’s get some burgers later, I’m hungry,” he muttered, opened his eyes and lifted his gaze to the big guy.

Jason gave him a smile. “It’s a date,” he replied offhandedly, and Roy was kind of hoping he would hunch down and kiss him as he did before. Just so he could taste the closeness and the warmth.

 

 

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My senses said I should just get on with it and do the inevitable, but then my brain said, "Nah, I'm tired. Let's just indulge ourselves and make them kiss more."
> 
> Comments and Kudos are highly appreciated!

The coffee table was taken over by all the tools and the scattered parts. The freeze gun he had snatched from his shooter was among the stuff that Jason had brought back from the clinic for him. Right now, the gun was dissembled into pieces and on the process of being turned into what was said to be a freeze grenade.

“So you want to modify a weapon into a weapon,” Jason stated slowly, with an uncertain look on his face. “I don’t want to be a buzzkill but that sounds a bit unnecessary.”

“You’ve got plenty of guns anyway, and I have no use of a freeze gun,” sitting crossed-legged on the floor at the side of the coffee table, the kid told him, “The gun is used to fire nitrogen at ultra-high pressure, but instead of shooting at a single target, why don’t diffuse the compressed nitrogen and use it for mass suppression. The gas will be spread thin so it won’t ice people up and freeze them to death, but it could immobilize a whole crowd.” He extracted the core of the gun slow and carefully, while he was saying, “-- It might come in handy someday. If I didn’t get something wrong and it just explodes right away.”

That’s reassuring.

“If you turn our place into an ice castle, you and I are going to have a serious talk,” Jason warned.

There’re a lot of parts the kid had purchased when they had gone out. Reckoned that they appeared to be a bit too many for just one single grenade, he asked with half a mind, “What about the other stuff then, is there another dangerous science project you’re planning to work on?”

The kid took a brief look at him, which got Jason a bit curious. “They’re for something,” he replied ambiguously then tuned back into his work.

Until they were fully recovered from their injuries, there’s not much they could do outside. Jason was lying on the couch, reading some follow up story about the aftermath of the death of Black Mask with the laptop, while the kid was absorbed himself in his science project.

Awhile later, the redhead started shifting uncomfortably, shoulders rolling a little.

Letting out a vague, frustrated grunt, he put down the unfinished gadget, reaching over the scattered parts on the coffee table to search for something.

It had lasted about five hours this time. Jason wasn’t sure why he felt the need to be aware of it, he just sort of did.

“It’s not candy, you know,” he stated without looking away from the laptop.

Hand stopped on its way to the bottle of Vicodin, the kid paused for a second.

“Have I said anything when you walk around half-naked and rub your pecs with ice?” retorted with some half-hearted defiance, Roy continued on picking up the bottle.

Jason lolled his head aside on the armrest and gave him a look. “That is a proper treatment for rib fractures, and there’s nothing obscene about it. Why on earth would you make it sound so obscene?”

“It isn’t obscene to you because you’re not the one who has to watch it.”

“So, let me get this straight,” he started thoughtfully. A smirk rose onto his face once he had taken a note of the unintentional pun. “--You have been watching me when I walk around half-naked and rub my pecs with ice. I don’t know I should feel flattered or violated by it.”

Roy went silent for a moment, clearly in search for an appropriate comeback.

“Shut up,” finally, the kid grumbled in exasperation, shooting a glare at Jason over his shoulder.

He probably shouldn’t be teasing a teenager about thing like this, it was what supposed to be a delicate subject or so he was told. But the redhead was adorable when he got flustered.

Eyes returning to the bottle of Vicodin he had in hand, Roy opened the bottle slowly, pouring out a couple of pills into his palm. “I wasn't taking it for fun,” he vindicated after staring at the pain med for a brief moment, knowing Jason was still watching.

It had been over two weeks and he was still taking the pills as frequent as the first few days he had left the clinic. The gunshot wound seemed to be healing perfectly, yet the pain in his back hadn’t showed any indication of subsiding.

The kid had taken fewer pills when he had first gone through the prosthetic surgery. Perhaps it was nothing. He didn’t know why it concerned him. He didn’t actually have a reason to be concerned.

“If there’s any problem with your wound, we could go ask Dr. Thompkins or someone else to give you a look,” Jason suggested.

Taking a few seconds of consideration, Roy ran a spare hand over his head. The other hand was lying on the table, uncertain of what to do with the pills it had. “No,” he replied in a mutter. “No need for check up. I’m fine.”

It didn’t seem fine to him that the kid had been constantly waking up in the middle of the night and leaving to take some pills. It wasn’t that he had been monitoring the kid’s sleep, but he was a light sleeper, it’s hard for him to not notice if someone who was sleeping next to him jerked awake every night with a small gasp escaped his mouth.

“It’s just the pain,” the kid mumbled. “It’s nothing. It’s just annoying.” Jason regarded him for a moment.

“What’s your old boss said about pain control.”

“If it’s not fatal then tough it up and suck on it?” Roy shrugged nonchalantly, “Not the exact word but that’s basically the gist of it.” He tipped his head backward and tossed a glance at Jason. “If you have any secret Bat zen pain control techniques you have to share, you’re more than welcome to enlighten me.”

“I’m pretty sure ‘tough it up and suck on it’ is the ultimate technique,” Jason said. “Or you could try to distract yourself with something else.”

The redhead hummed, hand fiddling the gadget he had been working on. It had been keeping him out of boredom, but it was easy to see that he needed something more to shield off the pain.

A moment after scowling at the pills, he poured them back into the bottle and crawled up. “Let’s do something.” He drew closer to Jason, propping himself up on the backrest and looming over him. Jason looked at him intriguingly.

“What kind of something.”

“I don’t know, let’s go out and work, or spar. Let’s spar.”

“Good thinking, Roy. That sounds like a great idea, if you’re looking for a way to aggravate the injuries.”

Hunching upon him, the redhead grunted in frustration. He lifted a hand to the kid’s arched back, touching around the wound gently through his T-shirt. While the other cuts and graze on his body would fade someday, that one ugly scar was going to be there markedly for the rest of his life. It’s a mark of survival but only because the kid had come out of it alive, if he hadn’t, it would just be a mark of victim.

He looked up and went right into a pair of green eyes that was staring deep into him with a call of something.

Slowly, the kid leaned down, hand slid from the backrest to Jason’s shoulder. The connection started small and weightless like the last time, then the teen pressed his lips tighter onto Jason’s when he met with no rejection, kneading softly with blind thirst.

Part of Jason reckoned that it was a lousy idea. He liked the kid, but he was a kid, the  _fifteen-year-old_  Roy Harper, not the other one who was in his late-twenties. Sure he didn’t play by the laws, but it didn’t mean he was looking forward to break every one of them. He should be the adult and put a stop to this, but Roy parted his lips and asking for him wordlessly, so he caved and kissed back, drawing the sharp taste of thirst and need into his mouth and pulling the redhead closer until the teen shuffled onto the couch clumsily and half-straddling him.

The laptop he had placed on his stomach was pressed close by a hand of the redhead. The teen was eager but not careless enough to pressure his fractured ribs, not that he had any awareness of the fractures at the moment. One of Jason’s hands was still brushing about the injured part of Roy’s back. It didn’t appear to bring up any discomfort to the teen, if anything, it seemed to be exactly the sorts of distraction he needed.

Their tongues touched tentatively before intertwined, coiling into an inextricable mess. A husky sound left Roy’s mouth when they broke apart; a sinful little sound that Jason would rather he didn't make until he was getting a couple of years older.

The teen’s lips were wrecked and his face was flushed. It’s good that his eyes weren’t open. He looked like something that could set a fire with a glance.

Watching the kid with half-lidded eyes, Jason asked in a whisper, “Feeling better? Or do you still need the med.”

“Nah,” Roy licked his lips. “That would do. Thanks.” He pulled away slowly, despite how he had that look on his face like he just wanted to lie down on top of Jason and stay in there for hours.

For a second, Jason wanted to just keep him where he was. But then he remembered the fractures.

“Anytime, kid,” he replied, “I’m happy to help.”

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Child prostitution ring.
> 
> Helena and Renee were here for a second with completely no reason to show up but just me wanted them to. Because I seriously miss them.
> 
> Comments and Kudos are highly appreciated!

Four fours he had been wandering on the street, he had come upon a fight, several drug deals and a mugging above everything else. He ignored the fight between two drunken guys outside a pub and went past the drug deals, but stopped at where the mugging happened.

He took a glance over his shoulder. No one was following behind him, there’re a few tramps and sex workers around, but none of those people seemed to be taking a note of what was happening. The mugger was waving a knife at a guy’s face and demanding for his wallet. Before he could make a decision, a woman in purple suddenly dropped from the sky, taking down the mugger smoothly with some powerful moves.

The victim fled as soon as the mugger was nailed on the ground by one of her thigh-high boots.

“Hey, mister, how about a thank you,” the woman called out sarcastically after the fleeing guy.

Another woman dropped down next to her. Not in a full costume or dressed as sexy as the purple lady, she was wearing a pantsuit and a hat, seemed pretty much like a normal person, except there’s no feature on her face.

The faceless woman said to the purple one, “Don’t get upset, H. I’m sure his heart is full of gratitude. If he isn’t so terrified by both the mugging and the scary vigilante, he’d definitely give you a thank you kiss.”

“You’re the one who has no face and I’m scaring the people,” the vigilante retorted, standing tall with one foot on the mugger’s back and with her hands at her waist.

“Hey, don’t flirt with me, not in front of the kid,” the faceless lady replied jokingly, head tipping at his direction.

The H lady mumbled, “Mother of mercy, when was the last time you get laid.”

Disregarded the retort, the faceless lady turned to him. “Are you alone, kid? It’s late, and these streets are not safe to walk alone.” She sounded kind of like a police officer.

“Go home,” H also said, regarding him with stern authority.

Instead of responding to the advice, he gave her an advice of his own, “You should wear more clothes, lady. Not that it isn’t fun to look at, but you’d catch a cold running around in your undies.” The sexy dressed vigilante glared at him.

“Damn teenagers,” she grouched while her friend was snickering. He tossed them a smirk under the trucker hat he was wearing, then ducked his head down and continued walking down the street.

About fifteen minutes later, a man came up to him at a quiet road somewhere near the gathering place of the tramps and the runaways. “Hey,” the man called out, and he realized he had already seen this man a couple of times before.

The man didn’t try to approach him until he was confirmed that Roy was alone and had nowhere else to go. Roy stopped with his hands in the pockets of his red hoodie, slightly hugging his stomach as if he hadn’t eaten for a whole day. Noticing how hungry he seemed to be, the man spoke to him nicely and offered him dinner.

There’s a small family restaurant nearby, they went into the place together. The man only started to talk about this job after Roy had finished the burger and the pie.

“It’s a simple job,” the man gave him the sales pitch, “A lot of kids like you work there. It comes with good money, and most importantly, you’d have a place to stay. I got to tell you, kid, with the weather we have here? You’ll need a roof over your head.”

“I haven’t been here long. But I noticed how the streets of Gotham could get cold at night,” he murmured in agreement, eyes staring at the milkshake in his hands.

“And don’t forget the raining,” the man applied in a sigh. “So, I take that as you’re in?”

“Yeah, that sounds like a plan. I could really use some cash, and it’s not like I’ve got somewhere else to go.” He gazed up at the man, and in return, the man flashed him a grin. The toothy grin was all friendly and warm, it made his fists itchy.

“What am I supposed to do, exactly?”

“Oh it’s easy, when the job comes to you, you’ll know what to do. I’ll explain the details later. Let’s get you arranged first.”

Leaving the half-finished milkshake behind, he followed the man out the restaurant and went back to where the man had been scouting earlier.

The man had parked his car on the street. It wasn’t quite an expensive car, but seeing the neighborhood they’re in, it probably would’ve lost some of its part or gotten a broken window, if the man hadn’t paid one of the tramps to keep an eye for him while he was gone.

Like any long-time criminal, the man was discreet, kept checking the rear-view mirror as he was driving. Even though no one seemed to follow them on the driveway, the man still took some detours just to be safe.

The car radio was turned on, filling the car with pop music that Roy knew nothing about. The man was small-talking him the whole time, asked him about his home, his life, his teenage troubles, stuffing him with friendly conversation so he wouldn’t come to notice anything fishy.

“I do everything he orders and it’s never enough,” he said when the man asked him about the story, “I try to talk to him, whenever he’s home instead of busying himself with everything else. But he just doesn’t like to listen; either ignores me or treats me like I don’t know anything. And I just can’t stand that anymore.”

“I hear you, kid,” the man said with sympathy. “Those old men always think they know best. You try and you try, and still, you are nowhere near to their expectation. You do your best, and all they say to you is do better. That’s why I have stopped talking to my old man a long time ago.”

He hummed agreeably.

The car drove to a warehouse in a quiet location. A couple of strong men were smoking outside, they greeted the man once he had come out the car and brought Roy along with him.

It wasn’t a fancy housing, but it was as good as any runaway kids with no money in their pockets could get. “I know it’s not a five-star hotel,” the man said while leading him to the place with a hand on his shoulder. “But it’s only temporary. You can always get a nicer place of your own once you’ve earned enough cash.” It was nice of the man to still try to smooth-talk him when he knew he had already had Roy in the trap.

Inside the warehouse, there’re more than a dozen of iron cots setting at the far end of the place, separated by curtains.

Most of the curtains were open, there’re boys and girls sitting or sleeping on the beds; different feature, different shape, different color, aged from about ten to sixteen. They all had a nice face and an entranced look in their eyes.

A woman came up to Roy from behind a desk, carrying a needle in her hand. “I don’t do needle,” he clarified promptly, taking a step aside before the woman could reach him. The man blocked his way from behind and fixed him on the spot with the hand he had on his shoulder.

“Not all the kids are comfortable the first time they’re at work, it could help you relax,” the scumbag recruiter grinned while the woman was aiming the needle at him. Roy raised his arm as the needle drew close. The woman captured his wrist and pulled it to herself.

“What--” she frowned in confusion, once she had realized that the presumed skin of his arm was actually impenetrable.

“I told you I don’t do needle,” he smirked, pushing the woman away with his right hand and breaking the hold of the man.

The masking device he had built for his arm a few days ago turned off, erasing the false appearance. Personally, he’s fine with how his arm looked like, it was the first thing he had regained ever since he had woken up, and it did make him feel stronger.

Though he always wore long-sleeved when he went out in his civvies, he had never felt the need to hide it or change the look of his arm. But Jason was right about how they should do something about it. He probably wouldn’t have gotten the offer and been brought into this place so easily if he was a kid with a cybernetic arm instead of just another helpless prey.

“It looks good,” Jason had said from his side when he had tried out the device.

“Yeah?” he had retorted dryly, feeling oddly disturbed by the shape of flesh and blood. It should’ve looked familiar, that’s how his arm used to look like. But instead, it just looked like somebody else’s. “Better than the original state?”

“Don’t twist my word, little Red.”

Glancing away from his arm, he had turned to Jason slowly and met with a smirk.

“I said it looks good, I didn’t say it looks anything better.”

He didn’t know exactly why he had felt like it, but he had reached up and brought the smirking mouth onto his lips, sucking the lower lip softy and nudged the mouth open. It was the second time he kissed Jason. It wasn’t as innocent as the time Jason kissed him, and with the fractures in Jason’s chest had already been healed, they had pressed tighter into each other than the first time when he was the one who had started the kissing a couple of weeks ago.

Somehow his arms had wrapped around the guy’s neck. The tall differences had probably put his neck into quite a challenge; Roy had hopped up the moment Jason had reached down a hand behind him, wrapping his legs tight around Jason’s waist.

He was aware of how weird it might’ve seemed. The sleeping together part was one thing, since it was strictly necessary. Though he would never say it out loud for fear that he might sound like a child, he did sleep better with the big guy by his side. But snogging each other or climbing his roommate like a koala did a big eucalyptus tree was a completely different story.

Before the whole Cadmus incident, the only experience he had of kissing was being kissed by some girls a couple of times. But he had seen Ollie interacted with the ladies, and he had picked up enough knowledge of this sort of thing from basically everywhere.

He noticed that the big guy was physically attractive, and that he might have the most gorgeous smile Roy had ever seen. He had seen plenty of pretty people when he had lived with Oliver, but none of those people had that biting edge in their smile like Jason had. The old boss might get quite edgy sometimes, but it wasn’t anything attractive to him.

The last time he could remember feeling attracted to someone, it was when he had met Wonder Girl, who surely was a woman by now. All he had wanted back then was to maybe see the girl again. It was a bright and innocent feeling. Not something murky and fervent that he couldn’t quite be able to explain.

It’s not that he had never wondered what it might make them, but right now, he was good at where he was and he didn’t want to think too much about it.

He liked how they felt; the touches, the kisses, the intimacy. They’re surprisingly simple and they made him feel good inside.

It might have been a little too good, it did some awkward thing to his body, which he hadn’t come to notice until the big guy had broken off the kiss with difficulty and pulled back from him (He wasn’t disappointed, or at least he tried not to show it).

“Your back is hurting, I assume?" the guy had muttered in an amused tone. "Am I your substitute for the med?” Hunching down a little, the big guy had put him slowly onto the ground.

With his neck was still wrapped inside Roy’s arms, the big guy hadn’t pulled back far enough that the warm breath of his wouldn’t tickle Roy’s lips.

“You did say you’re happy to help,” Roy had replied solemnly, showing no sign of awkwardness he had felt for both his action and the feeling within his own body.

Removed his arms and stepped aside, he had tugged his mouth into a smirk. “And you’re certainly a far better choice, since you don't have the danger of giving me a liver failure,” he had quipped, though they both knew he hadn’t been taking the Vicodin for weeks.

The man who had brought him here tried to grab him back once Roy had slipped out his grip. He twisted out of the man’s reach, tripping him down with a sweep kick.

One of the scumbags from the operation came up from behind, catching him with a pair of strong arms and heaved him up by his waist. His arms were squeezed inside the clasp. He flung out his legs, raising them up high, then swung them back and kicked the guy in his shanks. Instantly, the man fell over with his arms loosened. Roy wove out and turned around, punching the man right in his nose.

More guys came up with guns in their hands. He lowered his arms and turned to face the weapons that were surrounding him.

“So you’re feisty, huh?” The man—“ _Sid_ ,” he had told Roy back in the restaurant—climbed up from the ground, dropping the friendly mask he had been wearing and sneered, “What are you, some kind of member of the Robin fan club, trying to play hero on your own? Well, it doesn’t matter. Even the little Bat sidekick himself will be a good little boy once we gave him the medicine. I know some of the buyers who would enjoy a spicy toy, and you can bet your sweet little piece of ass that I’m gonna sell you to the dirtiest.” He waved his hand at the woman, signaled her to process.

“Watch your mouth, scum. I’m nothing like that brat,” Roy countered coldly, a second before the door of the warehouse was busted open.

The woman with the needle stopped on her tracks, turning to the door with a startled look on her face just like everyone else. Not even Roy was quite sure how he could manage that; by the time the door opened, there’re only the bodies of the guards fell across the door from the outside. The big Red himself was already getting behind Sid.

“That one’s not for sell,” Jason told him, clearly had been listening to everything they had said.

The woman with the needle ran away immediately and hid behind the desk as Jason dislocated the man’s shoulder with a swift, brutal twist. All the guns turned from Roy to Jason. The big guy pulled the man up in front of himself, sending the man to face the bullets when the gunmen fired at him.

Roy knocked down some of the men as they’re distracted by his partner. His heart raced and his veins lightened up when he was moving about and hitting those scums with full force, and he could honestly say that it was a feeling he lived and breathed for.

The shooting brought the attention of someone who was inside an office. Roy saw a man with a decent suit poked his head out of the room’s door. The guy who appeared to be the ring leader took a glance outside, then went back into the room and brought out a machine gun.

Seeing all of his men were down, the man fired rabidly. The woman moved out from the desk with a shotgun in her hand at the same moment, aiming the gun at Jason but only got herself killed mistakenly by her own boss.

Neither he nor Jason could get any close to the man with the machine gun sweeping back and forth at their directions. The two of them scattered apart; Roy rushed aside when the bullets flying to his way, tossing a miniature flare grenade into the air while he was on the move.

The grenade dropped right before the ring leader, blinding the man with its exploded glare. The gun swayed aside and fired aimlessly for no more than a fragment of a second, then Jason caught the man from behind, locking an arm around his neck and forced the weapon out of his hand.

All the kids here were shrinking on their cots, but none of them was appeared to be as terrified by the gunfight and the death as they probably should be. With the drug keeping them sedated, they didn’t even seem to comprehend what was going on.

Exchanged a look with Jason, he walked toward the kids with heavy steps while Jason was dragging the ring leader kicking and screaming into the office.

Some of the girls were huddling together on a same bed, they weren’t any older than him back when he had lost his place in the Navajo. Roy stopped in front of the cot, greeting them softy with a small, forced smile, “Hey.”

“Hi,” while the others just looked at him numbly, one of the girls replied. “Ms. Crangar isn’t moving,” she stated to him, regarding the dead woman with vacant eyes. “Is she hurt?”

He took a look at the woman then returned his eyes to the girl, hoping he was the one who was putting the hurt on the ring leader right now. “She’s dead,” Roy told her.

“But she’s supposed to give us the medicine before work,” the dark-haired girl murmured with her head lowered, pressing her mouth against the knees she was hugging. “If Ms. Crangar’s dead, who’s gonna give us the medicine?”

They shouldn’t have been given the damn “medicine” or been put into “works” in the first place.

All the kids here had been given the same drug the woman had attempted to inject him with. It was also the same drug that Black Mask had been manufacturing. He and Jason had busted into the manufacturing centre before they had been brought to Sionis over a month ago. It appeared the False Facer who was in charge of the drug centre had relocated the operation once the place had been compromised.

Even with Black Mask was gone, the operation hadn’t been shut down. For a while, the Ravager gang had still been selling the drugs on the streets, but considered how they had become Batman’s latest target, the new boss of the drug ring had decided to cut them off eventually and find himself a new business partner.

The drugs weren’t being sold all over the streets as before, but being used in aid of the worst kind of prostitution. All the children in this place hadn’t had a single clue of what they would get into when they had been approached on the streets. For all they had known, the people were offering them help, not renting them out with a high price. The drugs were there to keep them from being terrified, making them easy to be manipulated, so they could be ordered about by their buyers and their pimps like some nice little dollies.

And worst of all, the drug was highly addictive.

Roy wanted to say something, wanted to tell all these kids that it was okay now, that the nightmare had passed and they’re safe. No one was going to feed them poisons and sell them to rich creeps who had a taste for children anymore.

No more medicine, he wanted to tell the girl. But seeing the state she was in, he was afraid that it would break her heart. After all, the drug was the only thing that kept her inside the illusion of safety, cutting her off from the pain and the horror, from reckoning that whatever happened to her was not okay.

“Don’t be stupid, Molly,” a blond-haired teenager at the furthest cot said to the girl. He had that numbed look on his face just like everyone else, but he didn’t appeared to be as too far gone as some of them. “You’re two jobs away from getting charge for the drug like me. Now all the assholes are dead, we can just take the fix ourselves. There’re plenty of supplies in the drawer.”

“Don’t do that,” Roy cut in sternly, turning to the blond who seemed to be the oldest boy around. “You don’t need those things.”

“But that’s the only good thing that comes out of the job,” the blond shrugged. “We don’t even actually get to keep the cash, y’know. Once you get used to the work, those goddamn vampires are going to charge you for every fix.”

“You don’t need that. You don’t need to work like this anymore. The police will be here soon, and all of you will be returned to your parents.”

“My mom probably thinks I’m dead and forgot about me anyway,” replied in the mutter, the blond jabbed a thumb at the other cots, “And half of them don’t even have a dad or a mom.”

All the children had either run away from the foster care or run away from the trouble they had at home. It made him feel nauseous to see this. The only difference between him and them, it’s that he knew how to beat people up.

“Just stay put until the police arrived,” Roy couldn’t find anything to say, so he simply ordered, retreating to the desk and leaned his back against the verge of it with his arms crossed.

Though he had never done it himself, he couldn’t really say that there’s anything wrong if Jason killed people when those people were trying to kill them. It’s not unlike the police fired the guns when situation required, he had kind of figured. It had only felt off to him at the first time because he had never fought side by side with someone who killed, and perhaps the time when Black Mask had been executed even though he had already been brought down and disarmed.

Whether they were bad or not, the sight of people dying had never been something he was fond of. But right now, while he was waiting outside the office, he couldn’t help but entertaining himself with the imagination of the death of a monster who had been exploiting and damaging all this children for his own profit.

He wondered was it really so bad if Jason just killed that scum. He wondered what he would do if he had the scum in his hands.

Jason came out the office and dragged the ring leader with him. The scum was alive though badly injured; his face was a wreckage and some of his fingers were appeared to be broken. He was clearly having trouble standing up.

Roy stepped toward the big Red from across the warehouse, noticing Jason was walking solely on the inside in attempt to stay out of the children’s sight.

“He’s going to make an arrangement for us,” Jason told him in a small voice, regarding the ring leader on the floor.

The False Facer who had taken over the drug business right now was one of the lieutenants of Black Mask. A hardened criminal named Marc Spencer who was being at Sionis’s side ever since the beginning. The guy was getting extremely cautious being on his own, and the ring leader they had in here was the only one who could help them find him.

While Jason dragged the man out the warehouse, Roy headed back to the children. “Wait in here, okay? The police are coming,” he said to them.

One of the girls asked him in a murmur, “What’s going to happen to us.” She was older than the one who had talked to him before; thin with long limbs, a cute girl who would turn into a beautiful woman someday.

He stared at her for a moment. Her brown, mature eyes were fogged, but he could still see the pain and the scars. “You’re going to be fine,” he hoped.

Turning away from the cots, he saw Jason was back inside the place. The guy was picking up something from the dead woman’s body. He realized immediately that they were the keys of the desk drawer. The police could crack the drawer open and find the drugs; but if the keys were left lying around, the kids might’ve gotten to them first and maybe even get themselves OD’d before the police could even show up.

He left the warehouse after Jason. The guy listened to the police scanner within his helmet for a moment, before he said, “Let’s go, the cops are close.”

They got into the car that had brought Roy in here from the start. The ring leader was stored inside the trunk.

Being in Gotham for most of his life, the big guy seemed to know exactly what roads to drive or run without being seen. Roy couldn’t settle down with all the thoughts clouding his head, so he turned on the car radio and jumping from channel to channel when Jason was driving.

Awhile later, he couldn’t help but asked, “Would things ever get any better?”

“What do you think,” Jason replied in a soft tone.

There’re some times to spare before the meet up. The Kevlar suit was underneath the hoodie and the jeans; all Roy needed was to take off the civvies, the trucker hat and the black-haired wig he had used for disguise, stored them in one of their spots and put the mask on.

Leaving the ring leader by the side of the car, they stayed hidden until Spencer arrived to the pier. The former False Facer was heading to retreat once he had come to realize that his business partner didn’t seem to be in a good shape.

Roy fired a blast at the empty car Spencer was attempted to get into. The man and two of his bodyguards swooped aside and hit the ground abruptly right before the car was exploded into flames. It wasn’t anything necessary, both him and Jason could easily get to the man before he leave, but Roy was in a bad mood right now, and blowing things up did make him feel better.

Meanwhile, the leader of the prostitution ring was intending to take the car and make a run. Jason gave him a bullet in the back as he reached the car door.

All the men Spencer brought to the meet up were taken down. “Give me the location of your factory,” Jason walked toward the man and said, while Roy was keeping him on his knees by pointing the laser pulser at his face.

“If you don’t kill me, I can take you there,” the man replied, raising up his hands in surrender.

“Or you could just give me the location, then I’ll pass it on to the cops. If they didn’t find the factory at where you told me, I’m going to rectify your lying problem personally. And when I do that, you’ll be praying for all the GCPD, the Bat and his merry friends to show up.”

Jason promised him in a velvet voice, “The jug will be heaven compared to every second you spend with me.”

If the helmet wasn’t there, everyone could certainly see how his mouth had cracked into a grin so sharp it could easily cut a head off.

“If I was you, I’ll take him seriously,” Roy gave the man a word of advice.

Taking a glance at him, the former False Facer turned back to Jason, looking at the big Red skeptically. “I know what you did to the boss. How do I know you won’t off me like you did Black Mask once I gave up the location.”

“You don’t,” Jason replied crisply. “You’ll just have to take my word for it. Spill and I won’t kill you.”

It’s not like the man had a choice but to do as he was told.

Sending an anonymous tip to the GCPD, Roy and Jason waited in site for a moment, monitoring the police scanner with Spencer kneeling on the ground.

Jason turned off the scanner when the drug centre was found.

“Your business has officially been shut down.”

Spencer exhaled once he had heard the announcement.

Thinking his life wasn’t on the line anymore, the man was getting mouthy and grunted to the big guy, “You’re a fool, Red Hood. The operation was making good money, I could’ve offered you a cut.”

“I’ll get by.”

“Fucking dipshit,” the scum shook his head. “All I wanted was to make some cash like everybody else, but you costumes have to come along and ruin it. You freaks are all the same. You all grow your money on a tree, do you?” he retorted spitefully.

“Let just get this over with. Are you two going to walk me to the police station or are you gonna send a police car for me.”

“Who said you’re going to the police.”

Instantly, the leader of the drug ring was frozen on the spot.

“We have a deal,” his voice was sharpened with horror. “You said you won’t kill me.”

“I won’t,” the big guy said. “But he will.”

The man’s eyes followed the direction as he turned slightly to Roy, who had been standing at some distance with his arm crossed and his brows creased together.

Surprised by what he had heard, he whipped his gaze to Jason, eyes widened in shock.

 

 

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

Usually, she would wear layers of foundation to cover her face, but the blood that had been brimming over his forehead had put quite a scare on her, leaving her no time to put on some make-up but just stopped the bleeding from her own nose and wiped her face clean before she rushed to the hospital.

The male doctor was clearly taking a note of her black eyes and her broken nose, and really didn’t seem to be convinced by their story of how he had gotten his head bumped in a bicycle accident.

“Is it true?” the doctor confirmed with him after his mom had told the story.

His face was clean now, and the wound in his forehead had already been stitched up. It might look scary with the bleeding, but luckily, it was just a minor injury.

Without flinching under the inquiring gaze of the doctor, he replied in a nature voice, “My bike was going too fast on the slope, and I couldn’t pull the brakes in time.”

“Boys,” mom chimed in from his side, flashing that complaisant smile of hers to the doctor. “I told him he should be more careful.”

The doctor regarded them for a moment, eyes traveling between him and his mom. He didn’t know what the doctor might’ve read on her expression, but he was quite sure that the man wouldn’t be able to read anything on his. It wasn’t his first rodeo. Despite how he didn’t like to lie, he knew that sometimes lying was necessary.

He met the doctor’s eyes unmovingly when the man was looking at him, showing no track of emotion on his bruised face.

The doctor turned to his mom. “Your boy doesn’t seem to have a concussion, Mrs. Todd,” he said with a small, polite smile that looked as real as the make-up mom would’ve worn. “But he should stay for a few hours to make sure he’s okay. Could you guys wait in here when I go to get you something?”

“Sure,” his mom replied with an equally fake smile. She peeked behind the curtain once the doctor had gone outside. Making sure no one was noticing, she then helped him hop off the bed, holding his hand and bringing him out the emergency room quickly before the doctor could come back with some social workers.

“You shouldn’t have done that, you stupid boy,” when they were out on the street, his mom chided in a mutter, “What are you thinking making him mad like this?”

He hadn’t been thinking. And he hadn’t made his dad mad.

Dad had already been pretty mad himself when he had realized she didn’t buy the groceries as she had been told but had blown the money on the drug again. The man had been beating her senseless, and he had just wanted him to stop. He had yanked at his dad’s arm, trying to pull him away from her, but the arm was too strong and the man was too big for him to stand against.

Easily, dad had pulled his arm free. The heavy backslap had flung him aside, sending his head to the edge of the table. A steam of warm wetness had run down from his forehead. The pain was sharp, and it had angered him even more. He would’ve pulled himself up and charged at the man if the bump to his head hadn’t made him dizzy.

He didn’t know how he had looked like with the blood running over the half of his face, but sure it had been terrible enough, dad hadn’t said or done anything to stop mom when she had cried out in fear and rushed toward him.

“He’s trying to kill you,” he murmured in response. “He would’ve killed you if I didn’t stop him.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, the hand that was holding his tightened a little. “Of course he won’t. You know your dad, he just—he’s in a bad mood, alright? He’s stressed from work. So just don’t make it hard for him, and he won’t make it hard for us.”

Her lies weren’t as convincing as her make-up. Dad was always making it hard for them, no matter what they did; always could find a reason to start the beating.

There hadn’t been a moment she wasn’t sweet and compliance to dad, especially when he was drunk and angry. She cried and she pleaded, “ _I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry—please, honey, I’m so sorry--_ ” apologized for whatever she was being accused of, whether it was really her fault or not. But the beating never stopped, not until the man was satisfied.

He paused on the road. “Maybe we shouldn’t go back,” he said. “Maybe someone could help us.”

Mom glanced at him dully. “Who’s gonna help?” she retorted, uninterested of his silly idea. “You want us to go to the social workers, baby? How mad do you think your dad would get when he finds us.”

The fear in her bloodshot eyes weren’t so hidden under her dry annoyance. Since she wasn’t so stoned from the fix right now, it was pretty much clear as day.

Slowly, he started walking again, because she was right. If they were gone, dad would only try to grab them back. And by the time he found them, he wouldn’t be mad, he would be furious.

All they needed to do was leave. If anyone would bother to care, they might’ve told them, but those people didn’t know anything. They talked about thing like it was simple; everything was simple to them, because they weren’t the ones who had to live with the problem and deal with the consequences.

Everything was small and easy to fix when you were looking at it from above.

Like this woman from school who used to ask him about his bruises. He had talked to her a couple of times but never said anything that he knew it would get him into trouble. One day, the woman had taken the liberty and come to his house uninvited. Dad had been home that day when she had visited.

He had been doing his homework at the table when he had heard someone knocking at the door. The door had been opened by his dad. He had caught a glimpse of the school counselor before dad had blocked the door with his figure.

Mom had come out the kitchen when she had caught the woman’s voice. Realized what the woman was here for, his mom had pulled him away from the table promptly, brought him to the corner of the apartment where they couldn’t be seen by the woman.

Once the woman had said her piece and been told to leave, he had been yanked out of his mom’s arms. “You ungrateful little snot--” his dad had spitted. The grip around him had bruised his forearm, he had tried to yank back and almost gotten his shoulder dislocated.

“I risk my life out there trying to bring the money home and put the food on the table, and this is how you say your thank you? Yapping to some stranger about how badly I treat you worthless ass?”

“I didn’t say anything,” he had yelled in defense, and it had done as much good as yelling at a cement wall.

While he had curled up on the floor, trying to protect himself from the kicking, mom had latched on dad’s back in an attempt to appease him.

“C’mon, honey, don’t be like that—you know our boy won’t do that. That damn cow must’ve gotten those stupid ideas on her own. Some people are just nosy, y’know, it’s not the boy’s fault,” she had said eagerly in her most sweetest, most reasonable tone, but there’s no use to reason with something that could hear no reason.

In return, dad had grasped her long hair and slapped her face, knocking her down on the floor with him then started kicking her too.

The beating that day had seemed to go on forever and ever; as a result, mom had been limping for over a month, and he had had trouble using his right hand for weeks. He had been advoiding the school counselor in the next few days, hadn’t said a word to her until the woman had come to his house again and found him outside the apartment building.

When the woman had approached him, he had been sitting on the doorstep and taking a cigarette. Though it didn’t work the way the drug did to his mom, the smoke did tone down the pain in his body and make him relax a little.

He didn’t pay for it or get the cigarette from his dad, because dad would most certainty beat the crap out of him if he knew he had wasted the money on a pack of smoke or ever dared to steal a smoke from him (Although occasionally, he would pick up one of the bottles his dad stored in the cabinet if they ran out of rubbing alcohol, and he might’ve taken a sip or two after he had finished cleaning up the graze).

Sometimes when he was strolling on the streets idly between home and school, he would run into some guys who were associated with his dad; those people would give him a few bucks or a cigarette if he helped them pass a few words or run some small errands (one time, one of the guys his dad hung out with had even given him ten bucks from the wallet he had helped him to pick). He hid the money in his room where no one could find and smoked the cigarette whenever he felt like it. It wasn’t a habit since habit was expensive which he couldn’t afford of, it was just something he did from time to time when he had the need.

“Mind your own business, miss,” he had replied to the school counselor after the woman had told him how he shouldn’t be smoking.

“Are you always such a big-mouth, Ms. Samberg? Maybe if you aren’t so nosy, your husband wouldn’t have left you,” he had said to the woman, referring to the story of how she had moved into Gotham after the divorce she had told him back when they had been talking in the counselor office.

“That’s why you have to stick your nose into other people’s business, is that it? Because you have no life of your own?” The wounded look on the woman’s face had made him feel bad. Killed off the guilt easily with the memory of the worst beating he had had for months and the resentment he had toward her, he had snuffed out the cigarette after taken the last drag, turned away from the woman and shuffled into the building.

It hadn’t taken long before Ms. Samberg had gotten sick of his attitude and completely given up on talking to him.

Outside the building of their apartment, his mom stopped and turned to look at him.

“Poor baby,” she murmured. The dry blood had made his bang sticky; she brushed his bang aside with her soft hand, exposing the new stiches on his skin. “It’s gonna leave a scar,” she said regrettably, touching the injured side of his forehead gently for a moment before walked into the building with him.

One of the apartments at their floor was still barricaded by the yellow tape. The young man who had lived in there was killed three days ago. The police were only there for a few hours, didn’t seem to do anything but just moved out the body and taken some pictures. Nobody really gave a rat’s ass about this; it wasn’t anything important, so it hadn’t been on the news.

He had seen the guy in the building, but he had never talked to the guy before. He had no idea why the guy was killed, but he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be a burglary gone wrong, because people who had something that worth to be mugged probably wouldn’t have lived in a neighborhood like this.

Inside the house, dad was slumping on a chair at the side of the table. His hands were drooping on his lap, the bottle of whiskey he was holding was opened and empty. He took a glance at them once they had entered the door.

“How’s his head,” dad asked without actually looking at him.

It wasn’t the first time dad avoided his eyes. He wasn’t entirely sure when it started; probably it was around the time when he had gotten sick of sobbing under the strike like a little baby and started to feel the need to revolt.

The man would be agitated even more whenever he was glaring at him with a pair of arid eyes; the tears that had used to roll inside and threatened to burst out were long since vaporized by the heat in his head.

“ _What the fuck are you looking at, you worthless piece of shit--! You’ve got something to say? What is it, boy? What’s that look for? You think you’re better than me? Is that what you thinking?_ ” dad would shout, while knocking him down with a slap in the face and kicking him hard repeatedly. But the man wouldn’t meet him in the eyes when he did that. For some reason, his glare didn't just anger the man but also seemed to unsettle him.

“Doctor said he’s fine, it’s just a bump,” mom replied, the broken lips of her heaved up into a small, pleasing smile.

Dad grunted in response, lifted up the bottle and intended to take a draft. Realized it was empty, he put the bottle onto the table in a thud.

“I have to run a gig with big Ed and the guys tonight, I’m gonna take a nap,” he announced, pulling himself up from the chair.

There’s an empty pack of snack on the table. Grabbing the trash with one of his big fists, he lashed it at mom’s way like a slave-master with a whip, or just him with the leather belt at an average Tuesday. “Clean up the damn house, will ya?”

“Sure, honey,” said mom in obedience, picking up the trash that had hit her in the chest and went to clean up the table.

While the man was napping in the bedroom, he helped his mom tidy up the house.

He was about to remove the pile of clothes from the couch, when something on top of the side drawer captured his attention.

He stared at the metal for a moment before glimpsed over his shoulder. Seeing mom was inside the kitchen, he put down the clothes on the couch slowly and picked up the handgun that his dad had forgotten to put away since he had come back from the job last night.

The metal was lighter than he had thought, and it didn’t seem to be too hard to use. He assessed it a little, running his gaze over it then held it up with his hands tentatively.

It would be easy. Suddenly, he recognized.

Just open the door of the bedroom, walk in there and pull the trigger. The beating would be no more and everything would be fine.

No social workers could be able to help them, just as Ms. Samberg couldn’t.

He used to like Ms. Samberg, actually, used to think that she was a nice person and she was there to help. But the woman hadn’t been helping him for him; she was only doing it for herself. Feeling good with the thought that she was helping some poor children, thinking she could just come and fix a problem that she hadn’t been asked to fix, that she had never been truly related to. If she was being helpful to him, she would be actually helping him, not making things worse by barging in and slinging her empty word.

Word couldn’t stop the strike from coming day after day after day. But the pistol definitely could.

 _If only dad’s gone._ He had thought about it more than once, hoping and waiting for something to happen. Something that could deliver him and his mom from the man that had never seen them as anything more than just a pair of burden and his own personal sandbag.

Maybe he should stop hoping and waiting but actually do something. He wasn’t a child anymore. He could do it. Plenty of people fired their guns everyday for less reason; he had seen it on the news, and slept through the sound of it every night when someone fired a gun outside on the streets.

Mom certainly would be happier with dad’s gone. If she wasn’t so hurt by the crook who was never fit to be a husband and a dad, she might’ve even thrown away the needles that would only put an empty look on her face and make a mess of her brain.

A lot of people had died, and most of them didn’t even deserve it as his dad did. “ _I’m good,_ ” he imagined his mom would’ve said with a real smile instead of those vapory ones that were cooked up by the drug.

It was the only solution. He tightened his grip on the hard pistol.

No one actually had the power to solve their problem, so why couldn’t he solve it himself.

Dad always talked about how he was the one who brought the money home, paying for the rent and everything. He didn’t know exactly how they could pay for the rent and the food without dad, but he was sure they could figure it out. It might not be easy, but he and mom would still have each other; that’s all they really had anyway, and that’s all the important.

The tool was right in his grasp, all he needed to do was to be strong; be brave, and take one simple, necessary action.

It could be seconds or minutes he was standing before the side drawer with the gun in his hands.

Eventually, he placed the pistol down on the drawer, wiped away the dampness on his cheeks with the back of his fist, then picked up the clothes again and brought them to the washing machine.

 

***

 

With everyone else was dead, there’s no one in the pier except him, Jason, and Marc Spencer the former henchman of Black Mask who recently went solo.

The cracking noises coming from the car that he had blown up awhile ago had stopped since the fire had burnt out. It wasn’t in such a dead-silence, but the location was quiet enough, and the voice the big guy had spoken with was clear; Roy didn’t think there’s a chance he could’ve heard his partner wrong.

“What do you mean,” dropping down his crossed arms, Roy questioned carefully, eyes fixated on the big Red with his brows creased together.

Jason replied in a causal tone, “Not that I have much of a good name that needs to be protected, but I do give Marc here my word. I promised I won’t kill him, so I won’t. This one is all yours, Arsenal.”

Before he could pull something out of his mouth, Spencer, who seemed to be catching up faster than him, shuffled his knees a little on the ground and spoke up.

“Hey, hey, c’mon, I surrender, alright? Just take me to the cops--”

“Do you mind?” without turning around to face him, Jason said to the criminal plainly. “I know you’re a disgusting piece of trash, but could you at least show some manner? I’m talking to my partner here.” Clearly recognized the threat within his dry tone, the mouth of Spencer fell shut.

The man wouldn’t want to test him. He had more chance with Roy who hadn’t fired a fatal shot yet than with the Red Hood who had already killed all the other criminals in site.

Even with the helmet was in place, Roy could still easily tell that he was under scrutiny of Jason’s eyes. He tried to find something, tried to see through that bucket of a helmet and dig out some clues that could inform him about what the big guy might be planning.

To his surprise, he found nothing.

The big guy didn’t seem to have any intention to pull a trick; just standing somewhere between him and the criminal, appeared to be waiting for him to take the action with the sort of confidence that Roy wasn’t sure where he had gotten it from.

He took a brief glance at Spencer, who was kneeling on the ground and staring at him imploringly.

“The police have already shut down the operation,” he started in a low voice. “It’s got to be enough evident in there that could send him to prison for a long time.”

“And how many years of his supposed sentence do you think he would actually serve before he finds his way out of jail?” Jason retorted reasonably. “You saw his rap-sheet, little Red. He should be still severing a twenty for everything he did on his own or what he did for Black Mask. But he isn’t in jail, is he? Every time he faces the charges, he either gets off the hook on a technicality or serving not even half of his sentence before he’s sent free.”

When Jason had found out who had picked up the drug business Black Mask had left off, he had pulled out Spencer’s profile. Roy had seen it with the guy, so he knew exactly what Jason was talking about.

“The funniest thing about our legal system,” the big guy had said to him back when they had been reading the colorful record of Spencer at their base.

“The death penalty is basically abolished centuries ago. We rarely have a criminal that would be sentenced to death. The people up there hate pass off the death sentence, because no nice person could afford to be seen as someone who is cruel and inhumane. A criminal have to do something really, really, incredibly shitty and made his case well known to the world to finally get a chance to be put onto the hot-chair. Then when a criminal like that comes along, all they do is to put him into a hospital, provide him with food and a clean room after he has killed thousands of people because he is criminally insane.”

While he had been sitting in front of the computer, staring at the criminal record, Jason had hunched beside him with an arm rested on the back of his chair.

“Eventually, there’re too many criminals and homicidal maniacs who they didn’t have the heart to kill, the people in city council couldn’t find enough rooms to keep them anymore, so they just declare that the scums are now nice and good and let them walk free.”

Softly, the big guy had brought up the question, “All the heartfelt concern and deep compassion they’ve been giving to the crazy murderers, the mobsters, the gangsters, the robbers and the rapers, all the everyday scumbags in the world who deal drugs and arms and sell people into slavery—” The voice had been right next to Roy’s ears, he could practically feel the word drilling into his brain inch by inch.

“Tell me, Roy--” When he had looked up, the pair of blue eyes had thrust into him. “What is left for the _victims_?”

Instantly, the words had opened up a room in his brain where all the faces of the bad guys he had taken down with Ollie had been stored, along with all the faces of people he had seen who had been victimized by those criminals.

The victims were too many for him to count, let alone remember it all. But he could remember the bad guys pretty well. Because some of them he and Ollie had tackled more than once.

All those years he had been Green Arrow’s sidekick, he had helped Ollie send dozens of criminals to jail. They had fought the bad guys and saved the day. But what happened after that? The criminals hadn’t just magically disappeared or suddenly found the goodness in their hearts.

And most importantly, what about the victims? Somehow, he had trouble remembering what had become of the victims after the bad guys had been sent to prison.

For some reasons, he had been convinced all along, that everything would be just fine once they had won the fight against the criminals. But the dead were still dead and the ones who had been hurt were still hurting, some lost might’ve been recovered, but some never could be. So how come everything would be _just fine_?

He honestly couldn’t say what was left for the victims.

“Someone should have done something,” eyes returned to the computer screen, he had replied in a mutter. “How come no one did anything about it?”

“That’s the question,” the big guy had said into his ears.

Standing between him and the drug supplier, Jason regarded him through the helmet.

“You can do it, kid,” the big guy said, “just one shot, it won’t even be messy.”

He didn’t lift his drooped arm but just biting his teeth in silence.

Glaring at the guy for a moment, he gritted out, “Why.” Jason let out a small snort, as if he found the question funny.

Instead of answering, the big guy returned the question, “Why do you think those kids we’ve just seen would have ended up like that? This man here--” he made a loose gesture at Spencer, “is part of the reason.”

“Hey now,” Spencer chimed in promptly, “I didn’t pimp those kids out. It wasn’t me! My missy and I have a baby coming, I’m gonna be a dad soon, you think I would do any of those things to the children? I just want to make some cash, for my girl, and our baby! That fucker approached me when he heard about what the drug could do, it isn’t my idea! I wasn’t a part of it!”

“How do you not be a part of it when you were the one who helped it happen by providing them the drug?” Jason retorted in an icy tone. “And what did I say, Marc? Are you having trouble to hold your tongue, you need me to hold it for you?”

Swallowed down whatever else he was about to say, Spencer clammed his mouth shut.

“The kids at the warehouse,” Jason continued once the criminal had gone silent, “I could’ve told you that it’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen or heard, that there’s nothing in this world could possibly be worse than what happened to those kids. But that would make me a liar, little Red, because there are worse.”

Feeling deeply disturbed by everything that happened tonight, Roy growled in an annoyed tone, “And what, everything would just be better if I kill him?”

“At least in this way, we’ll know for certain that he won’t do it again. There’ll be one less bad guy in this world and the kids will have their justice.”

Seeing how he was wavering, Jason pressed harder, “How many of those kids do you think could make a full recovery? How many of them do you think might’ve killed themselves years from now on when they just couldn’t get past of what happened to them and snap, or blow their lives on junk because they don’t know how to live without a fix anymore?”

Though he didn’t want to acknowledge that, the guy had a point. Not all the children from the prostitution ring were going to be fine, no matter how much he hoped they would be. They were scarred and broken, they had seen the bad in this world that they shouldn’t have been showed, and there’s a good chance it was going to haunt them for the rest of their lives.

They deserved to have their revenge, just like every innocent people who suffered from crimes, from violence, from all the wrongs did.

Part of Roy wanted to just listen to his partner, because what Jason was saying not exactly unreasonable, while part of him was just put off by the thought that if he did that he would had a death on his hands.

The thought of killing the bad guys had come into his mind now and then, but he had never gone through the point of actually act on it.

The closest he had ever gotten was probably the time when he had faced Luthor at Metropolis.

 _If only someone would’ve taken that bald guy out all those years ago._ He wasn’t as furious at everything as he did at that point, but he could still easily taste the fury on the tip of his tongue.

He probably would be happy to see Luthor dead, but he wasn’t entirely sure he could do it himself if he had gotten a chance again.

There had been a time when things were plain and clear. There’s a line between good and bad, and right and wrong. And killing was undoubtedly a wrong thing, and people who killed were bad.

He wondered how bad it make him when he had been there the whole time and doing nothing to stop it while Jason had killed those criminals.

Though he hated the sight of death, he was fine with the bad guys being dead. He had never felt sorry for those guys, never had considered what Jason did was a horrible thing.

“ _That guy is a killer,_ ” the last time they met, his counterpart had told him. It might be true, but the older Roy didn’t know the Red Hood like he did.

The guy might be a killer but he wasn’t a _bad_ person. He had been there for him basically from the beginning. He was the one who had offered him help and invited him in when he had nowhere else to go since the only place he had had in this world hadn’t been his place anymore. He was the one who had distracted him with all those babbling and sharing his pain when he had been going through the prosthetic surgery, keeping his mind focus so the pain wouldn’t be too unbearable.

At this point, he might even go as far as saying that the guy was the only one he trusted and felt comfortable with.

“That bullet wound on your back,” Jason suddenly said, after regarding him for a moment. “It didn’t need to be there.”

Eyes glaring up at the guy, he clenched his fists slightly.

“So I messed up, you feel like now is the time you tell me that?”

He knew he had made a mistake. He had dropped his guard down and he had forgotten to search the guy.

Zero hadn’t been using any weapon besides the freeze gun, and the fact that he had already beaten the guy twice had perhaps gotten him cocky and careless (“ _Don’t get cocky,_ ” Ollie had always said whenever he was feeling good about himself. While Oliver Queen was a passionate and generous man, no doubt the Green Arrow, who had a standard only himself could reach and stingy with compliment, was one of the most strictest mentors a sidekick could ever get).

He should’ve done better than this. He had been taught better than this. But somehow he had still managed to make a mistake.

Over two weeks since he had come back from the clinic, he couldn’t really push aside the feeling that he had screwed up again and that he was always going to screw up.

Deep down, he had been waiting for something. Something such as a reproach that would certainly make him feel worse. It hadn’t come though. Instead, he had felt better. At least he had been until tonight.

“I didn’t search him,” he replied sharply, but Jason didn’t seem to think that was the problem.

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea if you did,” the big guy replied in an even tone. “But even though you’ve stripped him clean, it wouldn’t change anything. They could always find a way to make you dead, because they always want you dead. They always want something from you. Your money, your life, your dignity, your _arm_ \--”

He tightened his fists.

“Don’t,” he swung out the warning through clinched teeth. But Jason just ignored him.

“All the things they have taken from you, they took them because they can. Can’t you see that? Aren’t you getting sick of losing? Of being treated like your life and whatever you have in it don’t ever worth a damn?”

There’s something creeping in his partner’s voice that he didn’t think he had heard before. The guy was always cynical, but he usually blended it with some casual humor.

He couldn’t recall that he had heard the big guy sounded as cold and as harsh like this.

“You have to do it, kid,” Jason said, with a cutting edge in his voice. “You know you have to. It’s the only way.”

Spencer pulled himself up a little when Roy turned his eyes on him.

“Please,” the man pleaded immediately, “I have a family, I have a baby coming. It’s true, just trust me--Just take me to the police, I promise, I promise I will clean up my act!”

He had no idea whether the man had said it because he meant it, or he had just said all of this so he could get off the hook. He didn’t even know whether or not the man actually had a pregnant girlfriend.

Everything was so damn ambiguous, swaying between truth and tale. There’s no color as simple as black and white; everything just seemed so messy, probably because that’s how this world was.

He felt bad about wanting Jason to just kill the crook already, so he wouldn’t have any need to. And he was also kind of angry at the guy for putting him up to this.

Everything the guy had said sounded right, but he still felt wrong about this. And he felt wrong about feeling wrong.

Under the attention of his partner, he felt highly obligated. He was okay being a bystander, but when he was asked to get his hands dirty, suddenly it was too much.

Maybe the criminals did deserve it. There’s not much for the victims, so maybe the only thing they could really give them was revenge, and make sure there wasn’t a chance in the world that they would be hurt by the bad guys again.

Remembering everything Jason had been telling him, remembering everything he had ever seen, remembering Luthor, Zsasz and Black Mask, remembering the kids he had just met at the warehouse, Roy lifted his arm at Spencer, bringing up the tech slowly as if it had gained a ton in the past few minutes.

“ _You could call it off if you’re not ready,_ ” the big guy had said to him before he had gotten the cybernetic arm installed.

Back then, there's no other way. He had no other choices but to be ready, no matter how devastating the pain could be. He had needed to do it so he could ever have a chance to take back the life that had been wrenched out of him. But now, now it's different.

Maybe it was what he should do if he really wanted to make things right; maybe there would come a time when he had no choice but to do it. Maybe killing the crook really was the correct answer.

Things probably would’ve been much more easier if they could just kill the bad guys and be done with it. But right now, he realized he wasn’t ready to take a person’s life.

“I can’t.”

Spencer let out a breath once he had dropped his arm, looking like a greedy, pathetic scum rather than a threat that needed to be eliminated.

He was still highly aware that Jason was regarding him through the helmet, and it was deeply upsetting. He couldn’t actually see anything through that stupid tin can, but somehow, he had the feeling like the guy was _disappointed_.

He stared back at the guy stubbornly, as though he had already made up his mind instead of still questioning about it.

Seconds of silence, then the guy started in a dry voice, “Of course you can.” He tipped his head suggestively at Roy’s arm, “With the power you have in your arm, you can blow him up into particles at any second.”

“He isn’t even armed,” he countered in a low growl.

Jason inspected him for a moment.

“Let me make it easier for you,” the big guy said, walking closer to the criminal, with a hand reaching to the holster at his waist. The man who was kneeling on the ground looked up at him in confusion, terrified the second he saw Jason drew out the gun.

He didn’t seem to have any interest of using it though. Placed the gun on the ground where Spencer could easily reach, he stood no more than a few steps away before the criminal without blocking him out of Roy’s view.

Both Roy and Spencer scowled at him puzzledly.

“What are you doing,” Roy queried with caution.

“I’m doing you a favor,” the big guy replied genuinely. “You said he isn’t armed. Now, he could either stay put and let this play out, or he could take the gun and make a run. If I was him, I would definitely take the gun and fire. He would try to shoot the both of us, first me, and then you. You are fast enough to dodge it when he fired at you, but I don’t think anyone could miss me at this range.”

While he was having a hard time to understand what the guy was doing, the criminal turned his eyes to the gun abruptly, seemed to be taking Jason’s word into consideration.

“I said I won’t kill him, Arsenal,” Jason was saying, and he was listening. Because he had always listened to the big guy, just as the big guy had been listening to him all this time.

“You could stun him down before he takes the gun, but the lives he screws up in the future are on you.”

Even with the helmet was on, he could still feel the sharpness of Jason’s gaze.

“Make your choice and make it right, kid. Show me you’re strong enough to do what needs to be done.”

The second the last syllable was dropped, the criminal pounced forward and picked up the gun.

The pistol was pointing at Jason and ready to shoot him in his back, and that crazy idiot didn’t even bother to move.

All the things that were rushing through Roy’s head must have overloaded his brain; because he didn’t even come to realize what the heck just happened until a streak of red light cut through the air in a straight, precise line and punched the criminal down in a thud.

There’s a dark, scorched hole in the man’s left socket, where the eye had existed just a second ago.

Lowered the arm he wasn’t sure how he had lifted, Roy stared dully at the dead body, while the laser pulser changed itself into the artificial hand without a sound.

He couldn’t recall he had made the choice; he wondered was it because the choice had already been made for him. (“ _This is **your** choice,_ ” the big guy had said, “ _just like any other choices you’re going to make from now on. **No one** is going to grab a hold of you again, do you hear me?_ ”)

Roy raised his gaze when he sensed a shadow drifted upon him, watching Jason stepping closer with the hood was removed.

“You did a good thing,” Jason said to him softly, holding the helmet with one hand while reaching to him with another.

And that’s all he had ever wanted, wasn’t it?

To do something good. To be good. To be good enough.

Somehow, he didn’t feel good. He just felt like he had taken a life.

Instead of leaning against it like he usually did, he found himself turned away from the gloved hand instantly before it could land on his face, as though there’s a chance he might be bitten, or slapped, or grasped in a clasp so tight he had no idea how to break free.

No touches or words or anything he wanted from his partner right now. At this moment, all he wanted was a drink.

 

 

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

It just sort of slipped out his grasp and clashed. He should’ve been more than able to save it from the unfortunate outcome but just simply couldn’t.

Startled by the sudden crash, he looked down abruptly with a pair of widened eyes, regarding the broken little pieces as though he had no idea why the hell the glass would’ve jumped out of his hand and committed a suicide on the kitchen table.

Seeing how the metal hand was shaking, it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise; but the kid didn’t even seem to realize the shudder until he had taken a look at his own hand.

To be fair, Jason didn’t realize it too until the redhead had reached for the bottle and the glass inside the cabinet.

The kid had been holding himself together all the way home, hadn’t especially acted out, saved from being extremely quiet. It was obvious that Roy didn’t want to talk at the moment, so Jason didn’t say anything since they had left the pier and headed back to the base.

As soon as they had reached home, the kid had drifted into the kitchen. Removed the domino after putting away the hood and the cape, he had followed the redhead, watching the kid picked up the bottle of Scotch that he had brought along with some medical supplies months ago before he and Roy had bumped into each other.

Since he had hardly taken it, there’s still plenty of the liquor left in the bottle. It’s not that he didn’t find any appeal on drink, but he wasn’t really a drinker himself. It was good to have a couple of sips when you’re freezing in some bleak, old building in the middle of winter, or stitching yourself up after a fight, or digging up a bullet in your own arm or something; sometimes he might even have a few shot when he was in the mood, but he had never taken more than he could handle.

Not even that night in the manor did he drank himself into oblivion.

“ _Don’t let anything clouds your mind or affects your judgment,_ ” at the morning, Bruce had said to him suddenly, after he had had the breakfast and been ready to go to school. “-- _Especially not your own emotion._ ”

Pausing by the door of the dinner room for a few seconds, he had turned around hesitantly. The man had regarded him from his seat at the enormous table, with the Batman look on his face.

He had been making sure that he didn’t stink from the alcohol, and there had got to be too many collectible wine in the wine cellar for anyone to notice if one of the bottle was refilled with water. But he would have to be a fool to assume that Bruce (or Alfred, really. The man was the true detective in that house, there’s nothing inside the manor the old butler wouldn’t know of) didn’t notice that he had served himself a bottle of highly expensive wine the night after he had let Harvey Dent walk free.

Though it wasn’t exactly _walk free_ , per se; since Two-Face did went to jail and all, but it sure as hell had felt like it.

“ _If there’s anything you need to talk to me about--_ ”

“ _Yeah,_ ” he had acknowledged curtly with a nod. And Bruce didn’t say any more of it but just nodded in return.

None of them had actually talked about his behavior that night, or even brought up Dent’s name, saved from Alfred who had beaten around the bush a few times. But he had changed the subject soon as he had sensed a conversation was on the way.

He didn’t help himself with the liquor again though; not just because he could’ve lost the title of Robin if he was caught red-handed, but also because he knew full well that thing like liquor could only dull your mind and slow you down. And he didn’t really need Batman to teach him about that, he had learnt the importance of staying sharp way before he had been brought into the manor.

But it’s not like there’s anything in here that would require the kid to stay alarm, and the little Red did seem to be in a desperate need for drink.

Roy bit his teeth a little as he glared at the broken glass in irritation; seeing how he decided to screw it and just chugged from the bottle instead, Jason reached out, taking the opened Scotch from his left hand and went to pick up another glass for him.

The drink was picked up by the mechanical hand the second he had laid it down.

He was standing across Roy with the bottle in his hand. The empty glass slid to him from across the table with a clear suggestion, so he poured Roy another one.

“Again,” three shots later, the kid demanded in a grumble, sliding the glass back to Jason one more time.

Instead of complying, he placed the bottle down onto the table and looked at the kid. Roy didn’t look back, taking the bottle himself when he had reckoned Jason didn’t have the intention to pour him another shot, and started drinking from the bottle.

The bottle was lowered after he had taken a couple of long swig, Jason removed it from the kid’s hand as he was about to raise the bottle again.

“I think you had enough,” he said, turning away and put the Scotch back into the cabinet.

“So you’re my supervisor now?” the kid retorted dryly in a voice that was thickened by the alcohol. “What happened to ‘ _you can do anything you want_ ’?”

“Be that as it may, but I’m not going to clean up puke in the middle of the night.”

“I’m not gonna make a mess,” Roy grunted.

“Yeah,” he snorted in disbelief. “Say it to the mess you left on the coffee table, which you keep telling me you would clean it up but never did.”

“I wasn't finished using the tools and the parts yet. What’s the point of putting them away if I’m still going to use them.”

“You kids and your glorious excuses for being sloppy,” remarked half-heatedly, he headed back to the table and stood before his partner. Roy still had the domino on his face. He lifted a hand, but paused on his way to the mask, suddenly recalled the moment Roy had turned away from him at the pier.

Roy was watching his hand as it rose and fell.

“Stop calling me a kid,” said the redhead sourly with his gaze dropped. Taking off the mask himself, he laid the domino on the table. “You’re what? Twenty-one? Twenty-two? I should be the adult in here.”

“Only on your birth certificate,” Jason muttered a comeback and got himself a snort in return.

There’re a few seconds of silence, then the pair of green eyes moved up in slow, staring at Jason with what seemed to be a thousand words and questions.

Not an actual word came out of Roy’s mouth; instead of saying anything, the kid took a step closer, body language no longer spoke of rejection but the opposite.

His hand rose again without him lifting it, landing on the teen’s nape and pulled him in gently. The carroty head sunk into his chest, while the cybernetic arm climbed onto his back and taking a hold of him.

The kid shouldn’t feel bad about what he did at the pier. He was sorry that Roy ever needed to do it, but that’s what he had to do. It’s for his own good. If the kid ever wanted to survive, he needed to be able to fire the shot when a shot was required.

Feeling how the hand was still trembling slightly, he held the redhead tighter, leaving no space for any harm to slip in.

He tried to recall something, tried to recall if he had ever felt guilty for what happened to Felipe Garzonasa several years ago.

The memory of that certain night was fuzzy. He didn’t even remember how it actually went down.

Did he push the criminal on purpose, or did he just leave the rapist to die? Or was there a moment that he had actually tried to save him from falling off the balcony but just didn’t do a good job about it?

It didn’t matter. Because either way, he wasn’t guilty, despite how Bruce might’ve seen it.

Even though he did cause the rapist’s death, he wouldn’t be taking a life, he would be taking a rightful revenge ( _He should’ve felt wrong about what happened to the criminal. It’s a bad thing, he knew. Bruce had told him as much. It just didn’t feel like it. It felt like things had finally gotten right for once. But that’s wrong. Or at least it was wrong in Bruce’s eyes. He wondered what Batman had actually seen when he had dissected him with those incisive gaze_ ).

Without a slice of doubt in his heart, he reassured the kid, “You made the right choice.”

“ _You did the right thing,_ ” Batman had said, when he had turned away from Dent in spite of every fiber in his body screamed to him that it was a _bad decision_ , that it was **_wrong_** to let someone who had brought harm and death to people get off easy.

“ _I’m proud of you,_ ” the man had told him. And part of him really wished it could be enough. But that’s just it, a wishful thinking.

“Trust me, Roy,” he pressed his mouth onto his partner’s head, didn’t loose the hold of the teen until the cold, metal hand on his back had stopped shaking. “It’d only get easier.”

 

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

Waited till her eyes drifted close, he left a kiss on her forehead, then moved away from the side of the bed carefully.

By the time he came back from his daughter’s bedroom, there’re already two glasses waiting for him on the coffee table. The older woman was sitting on the couch and holding a bottle of vodka that she must have somehow been hiding it in her tiny leather purse the entire time.

“Would you look at that,” giving a look to the liquor, he sighed in a mock surprised tone. “Just when I think I couldn’t love you more, you brought me present.”

“Who say it’s for you,” she retorted with a smirk, opened the bottle and poured the booze into each of the glasses. “Just because I don’t brood around or growl aggressively like you big macho men, doesn’t mean I don’t have tons of craps to deal with. I’m more stressed than you could possibly imagine, I deserve to have a drink whenever I want.”

“In what world you don’t growl,” he countered teasingly, and received a playful kick in the leg when he had gotten close to the couch. Snickering a little, he settled down next to her, taking one of the glasses the older woman had handed to him.

Dinah gave him a glance after they had both taken a sip of their drinks.

“So,” she started, raised the glass slightly at him in gesture. “On a scale from one to ten, how much do you want to punch him in the face.” It didn’t come as a surprise that she seemed to know exactly what had happened today. It was clear they were going to have a talk the moment he had opened the door and seen the blond standing outside his apartment with a bag of Chinese takeout in her hand.

No one was around when the drama had happened, but she must have learnt it from Ollie, or more accurately, had pried it out of him when she had sensed something wrong with the man.

“Are you here as a mediator?” Roy had said once he had opened the door, arms crossed over his chest defensively.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she had replied with an innocent smile, which he wasn’t dumb enough to buy it. “I’m only here as a loving grandma, who has brought food for her beloved children. Now do you want the food or not.”

Before he could come up with a decision, Lian had already caught her voice, cried out in excitement and rushed to the door. So he basically had had no choice but to take the food and welcome her in.

He asked in reply, “You mean generally, or today specific?”

“Let’s start with today.”

He hummed then took another sip of the vodka. “In that case, it would be…I don’t know, a hundred and ten?”

“That bad, huh?”

“Yeah,” he huffed out a snort.

Hand drooped onto his laps, he stared at the drink he was holding for a moment, before glanced up at Dinah. “He blamed me. Could you believe that?”

“He’s an idiot,” the blond stated crispy. “And he’s an idiot who is hurt. He feels responsible for what happened to the boy, and it pains him. We all have our mechanisms, some people drink, some people cry, some people busy themselves to an extent they wouldn’t have time to think of anything, and some people yell hurtful things to others, even to the ones they love. That’s just his way of dealing with crap.”

“And that makes it okay?” he snorted coldly, and she shrugged.

“No, that just makes it human.”

Hand moving up, he took another draft of the drink. There’s a tiny part of him just wanted to reach for the bottle and chug it all down, but he didn’t want to take the chance. It was fine to get drunk when he was in a celebration, otherwise it would be a terrible idea to get himself wasted, especially when he was bugged by something (That’s how the dependency started, he should know) .

He didn’t think he would’ve gotten clean from the needle for all these years only to turn out to be an alcoholic; the worst alcohol could do to him these days was reminded him there’s something that could provide him a stronger kick.

But, who the hell knew. After all, an addict was an addict, and he was done being that. The thought of what it might do to his daughter if he was being weak and miserable was enough to make him stay away from any bad temptation.

“I really thought I could be better than this,” pondering for a few seconds, he said to Dinah, “I mean, I’m not a kid anymore. I’m a grown-up, I’m a dad now, I should be…mature enough--to not let it get inside my head. But I just couldn’t.” A hand reached his shoulder. He looked at the blond who had a tender smile on her face.

“Honey, it’s cute you’d think that, but no one could be mature enough for family drama.”

He puffed out a dry laugh in response.

Finished the drink in two sips, he put the glass on the table. She raised her arm as he shuffled closer to her, letting him lean his head on her shoulder like a child.

Just as he had expected, the drink was far from enough to dim the memory today. He asked in a mutter, “Why do we always have to hurt each other?”

“Because it’s always easy to hurt the ones who are closest to you,” she stated as though it was as permanent as where the sun rises. “You think he and I don’t yell at each other on a daily basic?”

“According to him and countless of reliable sources, you’re the one who does all the yelling in the house.”

“I do have the bigger voice,” she flashed him a cocky smirk. “But not even I could always be loud enough to yell some sense into his thick head, and don’t think it doesn’t frustrates the hell out of me.”

“And still, here you are, sticking by his side.”

“Well, at least with him, I don’t need to hide anything. He has as much dirt on me as I have on him.” She said while petting his hair absently, “There’s no way you could ensure if you really love someone until you see the worst part of them, until sometimes you just want to strangle them with your own two hands, or just walk away and never think of them for the rest of your life, but you’re unable to because you just couldn’t, because you knew you couldn’t scrap them out without leaving a bleeding hole in your heart, where they’ve already taken their place.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Does it only apply on romantic relationship? ‘Cause I do want to strangle him sometimes.”

“I believe it applies on all sorts of love.”

It sounded true, that love could be hurtful; and how much he wished it wasn’t.

“He said I let the kid leave because that’s what I want,” he told her, “that I am actually happy to see one of the Roy Harpers has finally gotten what he wants for a long time.”

He should’ve left the man alone, but he was getting sick of watching the old man being miserable, getting sick of him acted like he was the sole owner of the right to feel bad about things, like none of it had also affected him too.

It’s not that the man had been a pile of mess ever since the night they had left Gotham, though he probably had been drowning himself in the bottle whenever he hadn’t been drowning himself with work. But Roy knew a pity party when he saw one, and Ollie wasn’t exactly subtle when he was feeling like shit and pushing people away.

“Seriously, you got to snap out of it,” he had said to the man. “It’s not your fault.”

“I never taught you to be a liar,” Ollie had stared at him unmovingly. “You made it clear that you think it was my fault when you learned about the truth, and the kid thinks so too.”

“I was angry, okay? And the kid was angry, so he says things, could you blame him?”

The silence had seemed to exist longer than just a couple of seconds, then the man had said, “I should’ve done something. I didn’t try to find him when I learned about the whole thing. And I was just standing there when he left with Todd.”

“You are in shock,” Roy had replied. “What can you do? Kid basically told you to fuck off.”

“And what did it say about me,” the corner of the man’s lips twitched up into a vicious sneer. “--That he would rather choose a killer he barely knows of than come back to me.”

“He didn’t know what he was doing. He was upset, he was confused.”

“And you would know because that’s how you felt? When you were shooting yourself up?”

“ _Don’t_ \--” he had spent effort to bite down the snarl. “Don’t you go there.”

Ollie had regarded him for a moment.

“Why didn’t you stop him?” the man had asked, in a voice that wasn’t loud, but as sharp as a knife.

“You said you want him back, but you let him get away that night. Why? He didn’t tell you to fuck off, it’s just me he hates. I know I can’t get him back, but why haven’t you? It has been months, and you didn’t make any attempt to find him. Is that because you don’t want to? Because him being free of me is exactly what you’d want for yourself?”

“Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he had muttered in irritation, and the man just kept on going.

“Tell me it isn’t, Roy. Tell me there isn’t a part of you that was glad that he had gotten to say what he's said to me that night, that there isn’t a part of you still resent me for what I’ve done.”

He really did try, but he just couldn’t hold it. His mouth had broken into a snarl.

“You want to be pathetic because people let you know that the almighty Green Arrow actually sucks at being a parent? Well, guess what? That’s probably true, you fucked up with me, and you fucked up with Connor. It’s no breaking news, so why don’t you just own the fact that there’s thing you just can’t do right and try to be better, instead of acting like a complete asshole.” After that, he had turned away, didn’t bother to check what look Ollie had worn on his face.

What the man had said hurt, so he had hurt back. It really was a two-way street.

He wondered did it only hurt because it had struck right.

“I told myself it’s what the kid wanted,” he said to Dinah, “despite who he chose to be with, the kid deserve to have some space. But maybe Ollie’s right. Maybe it is what I want, to get away from him, to be free of him, of his judgment, of his expectation, of his shadow. It’s heavy then, and it’s still heavy now. I want to be my own man, but there’re times--a lots of lots of times—I do think all I am is what he wants me to be, which I could never get it right, because he wants another Oliver Queen, and I’m just little old me, someone who would shoot himself up, so he wouldn’t need to deal with things. I couldn’t do it myself when it was my time, so maybe I was holding this grudge all along and I was happy that the kid got to do the thing I didn’t have the strength to do when I was a teenager, leave instead of waiting for him to kick my ass out, spit at his face before he spits at mine.”

“He made a mistake, Roy, and he knows it. And you know how much he regrets it.”

“Yeah,” he knew, but it didn’t necessarily stop him from getting mad, or stop Ollie from making it too tempting for him to break that damn face of his.

“I hope the kid is actually doing great. Or at least do better than me when I was a messed-up teenager.

“Well, none of us have known much about Jason Todd, so maybe behind all the killing, he’s actually a caring person who have been taking good care of Roy and helping him in a way we couldn’t be able to,” Dinah applied. Whether she was trying to light things up with humor or actually being optimistic, it’s quite hard to tell.

She pasted a kiss on his head. It made him feel even more like a child, but in a nice way.

“It’s not about how messed up you were at one point,” she took a look at him and said, “we all messed up, once or twice or a thousand. What’s important it’s whether or not you can pull yourself together in the end. And if one Roy Harper can do it, then I wouldn’t be too worried about the boy.”

“You are too good for him,” he replied in a mutter. “I hope Lian would grow up to be just like you, but with better taste in men.”

The sound of her chuckle was light and warming.

“Seeing all the love she got?” she retorted astutely with her lips curled up, “I don’t expect my granddaughter grow up to be anything but the best.” He tossed her a smile in return.

They stayed quiet for a moment, then Dinah asked, “Have you heard anything from Dick?”

“No,” he let out a sigh. “But I think he has some information about the kid, he just wouldn’t tell me about it.”

“How’d you figure.”

“Because I know that schmuck. How he is sometimes.”

It was clear that Dick was hiding something, something he wanted to keep it from he and Ollie, so they wouldn’t be worried, which ironically, was really worrying him.

“I could ask Oracle,” Dinah suggested, “to see if there’s anything going on.”

His phone rang somewhere before he could reply; he left the couch to be on search of it.

“Hello?” he answered the phone, while Dinah picked up her own glass of drink and took a sip.

“Hey,” the person who called him with blocked number replied. “It’s me.”

He froze up for a second.

The voice was thick, but still, there’s no way he couldn’t recognize it. “--Roy?” he confirmed carefully, eyes turned abruptly to Dinah who stopped drinking and stared at him in surprise the instant she had caught his word.

 

***

 

Knowing he could handle things better than most of the people who actually worked here, the orderly left after unlocked the door, didn’t bother to remind him about the visiting rules or anything.

The guy who was half-lying on the bed didn’t seem to be disturbed by his presence, just stayed at his position with his back against the headboard, and kept reading the book in his hands.

Glanced at the front cover of the book, Dick remarked, “Never peg you as a Jane Austen kind of guy.”

“There’s a lot of me you didn’t know,” Jason replied easefully. “And the doctor gave me this. Apparently, reading is safe, because you can’t use something as harmless as a book to take a person’s life.” Eyes moved away from the pages, he tossed a smirk at Dick, “--You think he’d know better working in this looney hole.”

Dick responded with nothing but just stared at him through the cowl.

Putting the book aside, Jason sat up slowly, swinging his legs onto the floor. “What are you here for,” he regarded Dick in a mock curiosity.

“Is this a routine visit? Have you been checking up on the bad guys you put in the looney bin every once in a month as one of your charity works? Or are you here just to rub it in my face.” The guy said with a quirk of an eyebrow, “You’ve finally gotten what you wanted, you couldn’t resist the urge to gloat, is that it?”

“You think I hope for this to happen? That I’m happy about this?” The look on his face was grim, and he didn’t even put it up for the sake of image. “You leave me no choice, Jason. You killed, and you are going to keep killing.”

Jason assessed him for a moment. Unlike Dick who came with the whole outfit, the face of the guy was bare. But it didn’t seem he was left exposed without the hood.

“You should be thanking me,” Jason said, “for doing all the dirty works for you. Don’t tell me there isn’t a moment—when you look at all the damages they caused, all the lives they ruined—and you just want to waste them, to make them pay.”

“Sure I’ve thought about it. I have thought about it as much as any normal person, but that doesn’t mean it is right to act on it.”

“Not even for _her_?” the guy drawled, eyes staring directly at Dick. “--The girl you loved?”

The word struck exactly where it would hurt. He looked at Jason without a blink of an eye, while trying to push away the thought of Barbara in his head; the thought of what she had been taken by the Joker a long time ago, what impact it had left on their relationship.

He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her side for even a second, and every second he had been around her after the tragedy, he had hated himself for not be able to do anything, to fix anything, to take her back to the time where they could still fly over the city together.

He had clung at her as hard as he could, without realizing how much it had weighted on her.

“ _I can’t do this anymore,_ ” eventually, she had said, “ _How am I supposed to be strong enough to deal with everything with you keep treating me like I’m not._ ”

The pain from the past couldn’t be erased, but he wasn’t going to let it affected him. Not when he still had other problems at hands.

“You're just trying to get me on your side, don't,” he said to Jason in return, “I am on your side, whether you see it or not. But you crossed the line.”

“Someone has to. If they want to get things done,” the guy replied casually. “How are we supposed to change the world for the better if we all just want to preserve ourselves, stay on our high horses and refuse to get down there where the criminals thrive.”

“And how are we supposed to change anything for the better if we don’t try to be better ourselves?" he retorted without hesitation. “I told you, you kill them, and it just made you as bad as them.”

“So what if I am,” Jason shrugged. “One killer instead of dozen and more, I call it a good deal.”

“And I call it a bad cycle,” he countered. “It’s not a decision you could make.”

“But it’s yours—or should I say--it’s _his_ to make?” Letting out a snort, Jason gave him a thoughtful look. “You know, if you ask someone else, they might say what you did isn’t any better than what I did. I mean, you went outside the law, assaulting people, breaking and entering every night when you’re doing all the illegal investigations, take matters into your own hands and undermine the police’s work, all because you know the law isn’t enough. And still, you are the hero who get to set up rules for others as if you are the authority, and I’m the villain.”

“Don’t put words into my mouth. I didn’t say you are a villain.”

“Then what would you say about me,” he flashed Dick a wry smirk, “Misguided? Confused? **_Mentally disturbed_**?”

“Hurt, actually,” Dick answered in a clear voice, watching how the smirk turned icy. “I think you are hurting, and you’ve been hurting for a long time, even before he took you in. And what happened—what the Joker has done—it just made it worse.”

For the first time since he had stepped into the private ward, the mask on Jason’s face slipped off.

“What are you trying to do,” the younger man said to him coldly. “Are you trying to get me to cry to you about what a shitty childhood I had? How horrible it was to be beaten to death?”

“I’m trying to help,” Dick replied. “Is it really so hard to accept help?”

The guy shook his head in contempt. “Save it for the next charity case, will you?”

“So it’s really this hard,” remarked Dick, slightly exasperated. “People have rough lives, have gone through tons of tons of horrible things. I understand that. Why do you keep acting like I don’t? You really think I’ve never been to dark places before? You think he hadn’t?”

Without a trace of emotion in them, the pair of blue eyes regarded Dick for a couple of seconds.

“They call him ‘Dark Knight’, as though he was some sort of creature of nightmare,” Jason started suddenly in a voice that laced with some cynical amusement. “But if you really think about it, people probably only call him that because of the color and the scowl, and well, the charming personality. The darkest thing he has ever done was acting like a controlling bastard. And you, what’s the darkest thing you ever do? Acting like him? Even with the suit and the deep voice, you are still as blinding as the rainbow, Golden Boy. So please, really, don’t pretend you have any clue of how it’s like to be me.”

“Because, what? You’re such an intricate being, your mind exists beyond my comprehension?” Dick retorted half-heartedly, getting tired of all the argument that he was pretty sure it was just going to keep on happening as long as he was still trying to have a real talk with the guy.

Jason looked at him with his lips turned up cruelly. “Because none of you have known how it is to live as a gutter trash and die as one.”

“Jesus,” a whisper escaped his mouth. "Please tell me you're just saying it to throw me off," eyes glancing up at Jason, he murmured imploringly, and the guy just stared at him with that small, cruel twist hanging on the corner of his lips.

For a moment, he wanted to take off the cowl and met Jason face to face, open and honest; because that’s what you should do when you were really trying to talk to people.

Bruce would never remove the cowl if he was trying to drag the man into a talk when he had the suit on, even though they’re completely safe in the cave. And he had always hated that.

He couldn’t afford to show his face in a public facility, especially a public facility with all of Batman’s worst enemies had been placed.

Keeping his face hidden behind the cowl, he applied palely, “If it means anything, I was a gipsy, you know. So I haven’t exactly been living the life of privilege.”

Jason nodded in reply.

“Yeah, thanks for sharing. That means nothing.”

“There’re people who can help you,” Dick told him, “I can help you.” But as expected, the guy just dismissed it.

“What are you really here for,” Jason asked, eyes sharp and incisive. “You don’t expect me to believe you would come all the way here just to looking for another lost soul to save. I thought the brat is enough to keep you occupied.”

He wanted to talk to Jason, it’s true. They never had the chance to talk, all they had done was saying things to each other when they were fighting. But it was also true that it wasn’t the only reason he had come to Arkham.

It had been almost a week since the guy had been sent into here. Deep down, he knew Jason might be a lot of things, but he probably wasn’t crazy, or at least not any crazier than him, than Bruce, than Tim, than Damian, than a lot of people he knew who were driven by rage or whatever baggage in their hearts.

But the guy needed to stay at Arkham, because there’s no way Dick would let him be sent to Blackgate after he had taken the guy down and turned him to the police. The only thing the criminals in jail hated more than a cop, was a vigilante who had killed their bosses, their buddies, and their family members.

“I do come here to see you,” he told the younger man. “But it’s not like there’s any conflict of interest if I’m here for something else too.”

“Just spill it already. Before the suspense kills me.”

“Fine.”

With his eyes tracking every change on Jason’s expression, Dick pulled out the question, “Where is Arsenal?”

“What do you mean,” he stared at Dick blankly. “You didn’t ask me about him last time when we fought. Wasn’t it because you know he’s back with his clone or something?”

“Well, he was.”

“Oh he ‘ _was_ ’?” retorted scornfully, Jason shook his head a little.

Hand running over his hair in exasperation, he darted Dick a sharp look. “That’s just great. Tell me those idiots didn’t lose him again.”

“They didn’t,” Dick told him, “not really. He just left.”

 

 

 

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the important part of what happened between Chpt.13&14.
> 
> Comments and Kudos are highly appreciated!

Finished off his share of the criminals, he turned around to the kid. The last one from the armed robbery gang dropped his gun when he was knocked down by the redhead. Roy kicked the weapon out of his reach before he could pounce toward it.

Realized the fight was over, the robber looked up earnestly. “You don’t have to do this.” He tried to bargain, “What do you want? Money? Just take the loot. It’s yours, just take it.”

The kid replied nothing, just stood before the man and stared at him in thought.

“We don’t have much time before someone shows up,” Jason reminded him from a few steps away.

The neighborhood they’re in wasn’t nasty enough that whoever on the same floor of this cheap apartment building with them would’ve just ignored the cries and the gunshot coming from their neighbors’ house. Someone must’ve called 911 by now, and even if the police couldn’t response fast enough with whatever was going on at a normal night of Gotham, Grayson or some of his merry band of friends had probably caught the emergency call and headed on their way.

Not that they couldn’t handle Grayson and that miniature demon of his, but he wasn’t especially looking for a fight tonight. Not a personal one anyway.

He tilted his head in hint of the robber, “Do you need a hand on that?”

“It better not to be a pun,” Roy retorted tersely, raised his right arm and finished the job with a simple shot.

The blast went through the criminal’s skull, punching him down on the stained floor of the safehouse along with his buddies.

“Of course I didn’t mean it as a pun,” Jason clarified. “I make far better pun than that.”

“What really amazes me, is you actually believe that,” remarked with some meek irony, the kid walked from the dead body to him.

Leaving the apartment together, they scouted round the district for a while.

Nothing more seemed to be going on except a robbery at a convenient store. It was just one guy whose face was covered by a bandana, but he had a gun.

“The thousandth gun I’ve seen these days,” the kid remarked with a snort, “if I didn’t know better, I might say the people in this city are murderous.”

Roy was about to shoot out a grappling hook and swing down from the rooftop. Jason stopped him before he could make the jump, pointing at a woman who already flew upon the street from another perch that wasn’t as hidden as the one they were stopping by.

The woman in a purple costume landed in front of the store, getting into the scene without raising the attention of the robber.

Watching Huntress took down the guy with some brutal moves and manhandled him out of the door, Jason said, “I don’t think I’ve ever met her in person, but I like her. She’s rough.”

“She seems difficult,” Roy commented. “I like her too.”

The woman flew out of sight after tied up the crook and left him in front of the convenient store.

He and Roy had been out on the streets for hours by now and it didn’t seem like there still had much going on. Decided they had done enough for tonight, Jason stood up, ready to exist the block and head home.

“Give me a second,” the kid said when Jason was about to move out, jumping down on the street and walked into the convenient store that had just gone through an attempted robbery minutes ago.

He heard the store clerk was saying to Roy once he had followed the kid inside, “You uh…you’re late. Someone’s already been here.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” replied mindlessly, the kid pointed at the shelf behind the store clerk, “I’ll have one of those.”

The clerk took a look at the liquor shelf then turned back to him.

“I need to see your ID,” he said, and the teen stared at him with a pair of vacant eyes.

“Seriously.”

“Yah, seriously. I can’t sell you booze unless you’re of age.”

Getting into a staring contest with the clerk for a couple of seconds, Roy then turned away from the older guy and walked behind the counter.

“Hey, you can’t get in here--” the clerk tried to stop him, but froze on the spot when the cybernetic hand transformed into the laser pulser and pointed at his face. It was an empty threat, but the guy didn’t know that.

Moved his hand away after the clerk had stepped back with his arms up, the kid picked up one of the bottles, didn’t seem to care what sorts of spirit it was. “Thanks,” leaving the money on the register, he got back to Jason who was standing next to the door watching him.

Taking a glance at his masked face, the kid asked abstractedly, “What?” Jason tipped his head in an enquiring manner.

The teen looked away.

“We ran out of booze,” answered simply to the unspoken question, he walked past Jason, pushed the door open and stepped out into the night.

He felt like he should say something; called the kid out on how lame and incorrect the excuse was, maybe. _They_ didn’t run out of booze; _Roy_ , had run out of booze. Because only he had need for the bottles, not Jason.

The kid had been drinking for weeks, ever since the night they had shut down those drug and prostitution business, and taken down everyone who was involved with the crimes.

At first, it really wasn’t anything concerning. And quite frankly, he wasn’t even sure if it was now.

The things that criminals like Spencer were responsible for, the things they had done to people (-- _kids_ , for crying out loud. They were just children, who had no clue of how to protect themselves) were heinous. They deserved the worst fate possible, to be put down like nothing; because that’s what they were in the end, some no-good fouls who didn’t worth shit and definitely didn’t deserve to live.

Though he didn’t find it necessary for Roy to be disturbed by the death of a criminal, he did understand that the kid might need some times to readjust. It was his first kill, after all. And if the liquor helped, well, who was he to judge.

It would only get easier anyway. That’s what he had thought. When it came the second time, the kid wouldn’t even need a drink.

The second time had come a few days later. They had tracked down the group of criminals they had been targeting, and the kid had finished off the bad guys just as he had expected him to. Then Roy had gone to pick up the bottle the moment they had reached home.

Chugging down the amount of Scotch that had been left on the bottle, the redhead had stared at the void in front of him for a couple of seconds, then tossed the empty bottle into the trash bin and disappeared into the bedroom.

“I’m going to the store. You need me to bring you anything?” the kid had said after changed his uniform to a hoodie and a pair of jeans.

“No, I’m fine,” Jason had replied.

Without meeting Jason’s gaze, the kid had let out a hum in response, then heading out for a booze run.

So the kid still needed a drink (or ten). But he was able to finish the job, and he didn’t let the liquor affect him at work. So what if he had developed a drinking habit? From what Jason had known about his clone, Roy could’ve had worse habit than that.

It was just a phase anyway. There’s nothing to be worried about. He told himself, while pushing away the similar twist that had rose in his guts once when the kid had been taking more painkillers than medically necessary.

Keeping his mouth shut, he followed the teen out of the convenient store.

 

***

 

“Drink it,” the older guy instructed, after laying down the glass of water onto the table.

He could feel the blond-haired woman who stood by his counterpart’s side was paying close attention to his hand when he reached for the glass. Or maybe she didn’t, maybe it was just him being self-conscious; maybe it was all in his head. That body part of his was pretty much a mess right now, thanks for the nonstop drinking he had been having these couple of days, so what's the surprise if he started imagining things.

Putting the water down after taken a sip, he asked with his hand gesturing at the woman loosely, “Who’s the pretty lady.”

“This is Dinah, the Black Canary,” the older Roy introduced. “We hadn’t got time to tell you before, but Ollie’s married, to this extraordinary beauty here.”

“Ah,” he nodded in response. “So it isn’t just a goofy goatee he’s gotten himself these days.”

The lady was beautiful, and it was easy to tell that she was the kind of person who would never turn away from tough challenges, which he figured must have been a key quality for being someone who would vow to spend the rest of her life with people like Ollie.

“Congratulation,” he said to the Mrs. Queen, “I hope you’re in it because you are one of the toughest and kindest women in this world, not because you’ve done something nasty in your past and you’re looking for a way to redeem yourself.”

The blond woman cracked a small smile at him. “You _are_ Roy Harper,” she remarked in an amused tone.

“The not so one and only,” he replied emotionlessly.

Unmoved by his little self-mockery, the older guy stood still in front of the couch he was sitting on, regarded him closely with his brows knitted together in concern.

“What happened,” the other Roy asked, and he shrugged.

“Nothing,” he said. “I just need a place to stay for a few days.”

He turned his eyes away from the guy.

The way the older Roy looked at him made him feel like a liar, and not even a decent one. It was kind of irritating, probably because he did lie a little. He didn’t technically need a place to stay. He had still got enough cash to stay at the motel room for as long as he wanted, but he was getting sick of being alone in the room with the bottles and the things in his suitcase that he wished he could just trash them into million pieces but for some reasons just left them at where they were.

A few more days like that, then he was afraid he might’ve lost his mind (if he hadn’t already).

Suddenly came to aware of something, he looked at the adults suspiciously. “You didn’t tell him I’m here, did you?”

“No,” the other Roy replied, after exchanged a look with Dinah. “I’m not going to tell him anything until I figured out what’s going on.”

That’s good. He eased off a little, sinking back into the couch seat.

The last thing he needed was the old man came busting in and started giving him all the scolding and judging. If that was going to happen, then he would get the heck out of here right this instant.

He could feel like crap by himself just perfectly fine, he didn’t need the bossy goatee to help with that.

“So?” the older guy prompted. “What happened? I thought you’re in Gotham.”

“I was,” he simply replied. “Now I’m not.”

“That’s not really much of an answer.”

He shrugged nonchalantly, having no intention to explain. Puffed out a soft sigh, his counterpart walked to the couch and sat down next to him.

“You called me, Roy, in the middle of the night, saying you’re in town and asked if you could stay with me for a few days,” the older guy pointed out. “And when we found you, you’re…” drunk as a skunk, he assumed that’s what the guy was about to say. “--You don’t look so good,” or that. Though it would be more accurate if he just said he looked bad, or miserable, or pathetic; but sure the other Roy wouldn’t want to be rude. Unlike him, this Roy Harper Jr was a much nicer guy.

He asked Roy kindly, “There’s got to be something going on, so why don’t you just tell me.”

With a frown on his face, he stared at the guy for a couple of seconds. “This is a mistake,” muttered to himself, he stood up.

He shouldn’t have called. He shouldn’t have come to Star in the first place. He should have just stayed at the motel and been with the company of the booze until…until things would just stop feeling like they were too _fucking_ much. Until he could just stop feeling guilty, and doubt, and unwanted, and wrong; or better yet, just stop feeling at all (“ _Why don’t you_ _just pull yourself together and get over it,_ ” the big guy had said, as though it was something that could be done as easily as hitting the bullseye from miles away).

“Sorry for bothering you,” he was ready to take his leave.

The older Roy stood up quickly, while the Canary lady moved in front of him before he could walk out of the living room, blocking him from getting anywhere further. The woman was petite, but he had a feeling that he wouldn’t have any physical advantage over her even though he was in fact taller with a portable arsenal of an arm.

He really shouldn’t have called. It appeared he did know how to make the worst decision.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I’m just worried, that’s all,” his counterpart tried to pacify him. “You don’t want to talk right now, that’s fine. You don’t need to leave. You can stay here— _we_ want you to stay here, this is your home.”

That’s nice of him to say, and how much Roy wanted to believe it was true (It wasn’t. It wasn’t before, it wasn’t now. It wasn’t anytime he had been stupid enough to believe it was. “-- _Get out,_ ” the word was clear. And all of the boiling emotion within him had been sucked out of his body. His heart had turned clam and his head couldn’t get any soberer at that point. “ _This isn’t your place._ ” He had stared at the guy who had spoken without a doubt. The lump in his throat had felt as stony as the truth he had been forced to see, he had swallowed it down; it had left a horrible scratch in his throat but he had already known there’s medicine for that).

Slowly, he turned back to the couch and sank down again. This was not going to work, he knew. It hadn’t worked the last time, and he hadn’t even been a drunk or a killer back then; but, what the hell, it’s not like he’d still got somewhere else to go anyway. The worst thing that could happen was being left on his own, which he should’ve gotten used to by now.

 

***

 

Putting on a clean set of clothes after taken a shower, he glanced up abstractedly and baffled by the look he received from the pair of blue eyes. It wasn’t quite a judgmental look; it just seemed cold and clouded, like the unpleasant weather he had gotten so used to in this city.

 _Why the grim face,_ he asked in silence. _Everything is fine-- **we** are fine--what the hell are you upset about?_

The blue-eyed man didn’t give him an answer, just kept staring at him with a face that contained no warmth or compassion, or kindness. It didn’t seem to be a face of a good man, unlike the face of Bruce, of Dick, of any of those people from that big hero club. Instead, it looked like the sort of face a man like his dad had (“ _You’ve got his eyes,_ ” the woman had said to him when she had known about who he was. It wasn’t something he would like to hear, but the woman had looked happy as she said that, so he didn’t say anything, just glad that he had finally gotten to meet her; the woman who gave birth to him, the last person in this world who he might be truly related to; someone from his family who wasn’t dead or a worthless lowlife).

Turning away from the mirror, he stepped out the bathroom.

The little redhead was right where he had left him, sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, with the bottle he had brought from the convenient store keeping him company. One third of the liquor had already gone empty at this point, he walked toward Roy who still hadn’t changed his clothing but merely taken off the domino.

The mask was left on the coffee table that was occupied by all the parts and tools like always. The kid was an excellent marksman and a good operator, and he had a mind for technology, but he was hardly the most effective person in the world when it came to cleaning up after himself.

Apparently, Roy was planning on doing something with those parts. It was too early to say what he was intended to make, since he hadn’t been spending much time working on it lately. Most of the time he would just sit in front of the stuff and drinking; Jason wondered did he drink because he got stuck on his project, or did he got stuck on his project because he drank.

Standing from a small distance, he regarded the kid for a moment. The red hair of his had gotten slightly longer than before; it had been months since they had met each other, and the kid hadn’t been getting a hair cut once. He didn’t especially prefer the buzz-cut or anything, it just suddenly got him to realize that the teen had looked different; less of the kid soldier with a steely face but something else. And he couldn’t help but thought just how different Roy had actually gotten lately besides the longer hair.

“Do you need anything?” he stepped toward the kid and asked. For some reason he was annoyed, and his voice sounded more than just a bit sarcastic, “--Food? Water? A nice cold shower and a change of clothes so you wouldn’t stink?”

The kid took a glance at himself. There’s no major fight had happened tonight, so his Arsenal suit was still basically clean. It didn’t mean he needn’t take a shower though.

“I’ll take a shower later,” Roy replied in a thick voice. “When the water isn’t cold,” which he was just saying to be a smartass, because the heating system in here was still unfixed, so the shower was always cold.

Realized Jason was still standing there and staring, the kid reassured him, “ ** _I’m good._** ” Then he raised the bottle again.

And suddenly, it just came over him.

The mild annoyance was replaced by the scalding anger that was erupting from the deep of his stomach. He wasn’t sure why, but the careless word had hit him straight in the nerve like a bullet with his damn name on it.

He snatched away the booze and laid it onto the table in a thud.

“What--” the kid gaped in confusion when Jason grabbed his right arm abruptly and yanked him up from the floor.

Ignoring the struggle Roy was putting up, he dragged the kid toward the bathroom. The force he put in his grip would’ve been enough to bruise the arm if it was flesh and blood.

Once he reached the bathroom, he turned on the shower and brought Roy’s head under the running water. He didn’t lose his hold on the teen until the cybernetic arm swung back viciously and almost knocked him in the jaw.

Swatted Jason’s hand away, the kid turned around quickly, glaring at him with eyes shone with flame.

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing!” Roy growled, looking like a proper mess with his head was dripping wet and his face was flushed with frustration.

“Sober you up,” Jason replied, as if it was only natural.

Reaching up to turn off the water, the kid gritted out through his bared teeth, “I wasn’t drunk.”

“But you want to be,” Jason stated plainly. “--That’s what you’ve been doing, right? Get yourself wasted because—what? Things look prettier from the bottom of the bottle?”

Clamming his mouth shut, the kid glared at him for a moment.

When he opened his mouth again, he didn’t give Jason a direct response. “Did I screw up the mission?” he retorted instead. “Did I miss a target or lose a fight? I didn’t, did I? So what if I drink, what’s the problem.”

“You don’t think there’s a problem.”

“No. And I don’t understand why you think there is.” Arms crossed in front of his chest, he scorned with a tint of bitterness, “You’re okay with me drinking before, weren’t you. You’re okay with me drinking, or smoking, or killing people.”

 _So that’s what this is all about_. He looked at the kid coldly.

The realization didn’t really come as a surprise to him, because _of course_ that’s what this was all about.

It had been haunting the kid; not in his dream, but in his every waking moment these last few weeks. Jason had been seeing this the whole time, he just chose to ignore it, didn’t drill into the fact that Roy hadn’t been making through a day without picking up the bottle lately.

The first time after he had fired the fatal shot, his hand couldn’t stop shaking. But it was that one time. His hand didn’t get shaky again, and as far as Jason could tell, he hadn’t been suffered from nightmare. So sometime he drank until he passed out on the couch, but Jason could always just pick him up and bring him to bed. The kid would shuffle closer once he had lied down beside him, draped his body over Jason and slept soundly through the night.

 _The kid is fine_ , he had thought. He didn’t know how he could get himself to believe that. Was it because he didn’t want to think otherwise? Was it because he didn’t want to deal with it if there really was a problem? Because he didn’t know how to? Or was it because he simply didn’t think there would be one since he had never had problem with killing someone himself so why would Roy?

“You’re bothered,” slowly, he started. “It can’t bother you if you don’t let it.”

The anger within the green eyes had dialed down; the teen dropped his gaze, brows knitted together into a small, uneasy frown. The way he crossed his arms didn’t seem defensive anymore, it just kind of looked like he was wet and cold.

“Did it ever bother you?” after a brief silence, the redhead asked him.

“No,” the answer was easy. “Why would I be bothered? Why would I feel bad or sorry for the people who don’t worth anyone’s sympathy. Why would _you_ be bothered, really. Is it because of him? Because of what the Green Arrow has taught you?”

He tried to get Roy to look him in the eyes, but the kid just kept staring dully in front of himself. Getting slightly disappointed, he shook his head in disapproval.

“Why are you still listening to him?” he found his voice came sharper than normal; it’s almost like he wasn’t just disappointed but ruffled somehow. “Whatever Queen has been telling you, whatever rules and idea he’s put in your head, he just tried to brainwash you into him. Just because he said what is right doesn’t make it right. You don’t need to do what he says. He doesn’t get to decide what is right for you, Roy. Some people _do_ deserve to die and sometimes getting your hands dirty _is_ the only way to get the job done.”

“So he doesn’t get to decide, that I agree. But for some reason, you do?” Roy retorted dryly with his eyes turned up.

The gaze dug deep into his face like an invasive surgical knife. It would seem the kid wasn’t lying after all. He seemed way too sober to be drunk.

“You have been telling me all these things,” Roy pointed out in a neutral tone, “what is the better way to handle the criminals. You think I didn’t notice? That you have been selling all these ideas to me? What is that, big guy? What are you trying to do? Are you trying to brainwash me into you?”

That’s _not_ true. He had every intention to snarl in response.

He didn’t feel as if he was ruffled anymore, right now he felt outraged. He wasn’t like them. How dared the kid suggested that. How could he not _understand_. He would never do what people like Oliver Queen might do to their younger partner, keeping them in a tight hold and denied them whenever they weren’t acting like them, judging them for what they were as though what they were was less and wrong.

He would’ve let the kid know just how offended he was by that, if his mouth wasn’t clutching so tight he was having trouble get it to open.

The teen didn’t seem to think much about it when Jason said nothing but just stared at him with a somber face. Apparently, that wasn’t really the question he would like to get an answer; unlike this next one.

“Did you really put me on the job that night only because you promised Spencer you wouldn’t kill him? Or have you already been planning for me to do it all along,” Roy asked in a pale voice.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does. ‘Cause if that’s your plan for me, that means it’s not actually about that guy, right? It's just about you wanted me to do it, to kill someone.”

“So what if I did,” Jason sniped sharply, swung the word out like he was doing a punch.

“You want to take down the criminals and I helped you to understand how to do it properly. You want to be the person who fails to save a life because he can’t make the tough choices? You want to be the one who ends up dead because he didn’t know how to take a life before someone else took his? You want to stay in this kind of world and keep fighting, then the first thing you need to know it’s how to stay alive.”

“And you think I didn’t know how to do that.”

“No, Roy, you didn’t. And you wonder why I know that? Turn around and take a good look at that scar on your back. You think Zero could’ve shot you if he’s dead?”

“So there’re only two options, is that it? I could either kill or get killed?”

 _There’s got to be another option_. People like Bruce had always said that, but sometimes, there just simply hadn’t.

Despite how his head was blazing up, his face was stone cold.

“If you don’t care about your own life, how about the lives of those innocent people out there,” he said in return. “You avenged the victims by killing the criminals, you stopped them from making another victim. Isn’t that enough reason for you?” The kid didn’t reply to that.

Regarded Jason for a few seconds, he cast down his gaze again; the melancholy air around the little redhead was suffocating, it made him both want to get far away from the kid and pull him in.

“You want me to do the job, I do the job,” Roy said in an even voice, attempted to kill the talk which clearly wasn’t heading anywhere good. “So why can’t you just leave it. Why does it bother you so much that I drink.”

Because he shouldn’t; because he didn’t _want_ the drink, he just needed it.

 ** _I’m good_** , he said, but he wasn’t good. He was falling apart and he shouldn’t be.

He wanted to leave it, it shouldn’t have concerned him. The kid could do anything he wanted, it wasn’t Jason’s responsibility to mother-hen him. But he couldn’t leave it. Heaven knew why.

The kid’s hair was still dripping. He ran a hand over it, thought for a moment before he broke the silence.

“You want to know what I’ve been thinking a lot?” Roy looked at him, hand sliding down from his head to the back of his neck, holding onto it slackly. “--The baby.”

Seeing how Jason had gone blank, the kid explained, “The guy said he had a baby coming. And I just couldn’t stop thinking about that.”

“It’s a lie,” he responded without a thought. “He just wanted you to take pity on him.”

“You don’t know that. How’d you know that,” shaking his head a little, Roy retorted in a murmur.

“Maybe all those things he’s done, he’s only done it because he wanted to give his girlfriend and their baby the best life the money could buy, that doesn’t make it okay, he should pay for his crimes. But if he was in jail instead of killed, at least the baby would still have a dad.”

“Assuming it is true, can you say the baby wouldn’t be better off without him? You think a criminal like that would make a wonderful parent? Look at what he’s done to other people, Roy. You think he cared about lives?”

“I don’t think anything,” the kid shrugged. “I don’t know what I think. I don’t know—anything--about that guy, actually. What do I know, I just got in there for about an hour and burst a hole in his head.”

“If you're against the idea of killing so much, then why'd you do it.”

The kid gave him a look, as if it was funny he would ask that.

“Because you gave him the gun, Jason,” Roy replied. “You gave him the gun, you put yourself in the line and you made me choose.”

“I didn’t put the gun in his hand,” he clarified. “He took it, because that’s what he did. And I didn’t _make you_ do anything. You made the choice yourself, kid, and it wasn’t the wrong one. So why don’t you just pull yourself together and get over it.”

“Like you did?” the kid retorted in a mutter, after gone quiet for a couple of seconds. Jason looked at him sharply, and Roy met his eyes without a bit faltered.

“That’s why you fight against Batman and Robin even though you should be on the same side? That’s why you so insist that all criminals should only be dead? That’s why you used to wake up in the middle of the night like you’re haunted by something?” Catching a slice of surprise that slipped off Jason’s face, the kid rolled his eyes and added, “I didn’t sleep much before, so I noticed.” He continued, “And all of this--it’s because you’ve gotten over everything? That you’re—what, mentally impenetrable?”

“You want to say that I forced your hand, you want to blame me for turning you into a killer, then go ahead and blame me. But this isn’t about me,” keeping his face airtight, he said to Roy sternly. “You’re right I want you to kill the bad guys, so I gave him the gun and I made you choose, but I did it for your own good.”

“I don’t blame you. Not really,” Roy shook his head and said. “I think you are a manipulative asshole for doing that, creating the whole situation and putting all those pressure on me, trying to get me to do what you want. But in the end, it’s me who fired the shot. Because I do believe what you are saying it’s right. Because I believe you. Because you’re my partner and I don’t want my partner to be shot by a _fucking_ bullet. And because I was angry and I was afraid what might happen if I let the criminal live. But I don’t--”

The kid halted abruptly, closed his eyes for a second and swallowed down whatever rising up in him before he could go on.

“I don’t _want_ to be angry, or afraid,” he said, gazing up at Jason imploringly. “I just…I don’t know. I don’t understand what’s wrong. I mean, any good person would try to save someone from getting killed even if those are criminals, right? Or at least feel bad about seeing them dead. But I didn’t. When you killed them, it’s all fine, they deserved it. What do I care about them? But when it’s my turn to do the _right thing_ as you said, it just didn’t feel right. I should’ve felt right, but I didn’t. How come…how come I don’t feel things in the right way? Is it because there’s something wrong with me?”

It was so difficult to look at, Jason couldn’t help but avoided his gaze; though it wasn’t enough for him to miss it when Roy dropped his eyes with disappointment.

“I believe you,” the voice was weightless, but the word was heavy and somehow cutting.

“I want—I need to believe you. I need to believe what we are doing is good. So just answer me this, Jay,” the kid looked up again and stared at him directly, “I know you’re not a bad guy, but are you a _good_ person? **_Am I_**?”

The question was so damn hilarious, it’s a miracle that he wasn’t laughing like a lunatic.

“What do you want from me,” he retorted in a huff. “What do you think I am, kid? Some sort of hero? I kill the bad guys because someone has to do it, and that’s all. I’m not the hero you want me to be, I never was. You want to see the good in people, there’s nothing for you to see in here. You want to become the hero you’re meant to be, then go ahead and be one. I trust that you could do that, I have every confidence in you. But you can’t do it in here.”

Whatever trouble the kid was having, he had thought he could handle it. But he couldn’t. How come he would be so arrogant he actually believed he could. There’re things he could do, and there’re things he couldn’t. Some things he just couldn’t do right. He should’ve known that by now.

“I can’t have someone like you staying with me,” he muttered.

It was a mistake all along. He should’ve never brought the kid into this place. Why would he do that? Because he had gotten curious by a teenager who was accustomed to violence? Because it had seemed like a good idea to have a younger partner to extend his role as Batman?

Because he didn’t _think_ and he didn’t _care_?

“Get out,” he told the kid, “This isn’t your place.”

Roy looked at him blankly. He didn’t meet the kid’s eyes, just staring at the drop of water on his hair.

“Funny,” seconds later, the kid swallowed down something and mumbled. His face was naked, yet shrouded somehow. “--For a moment there, I actually thought it is.” He walked past Jason and headed to the bathroom door.

“ ** _Wait_** \--”

With his back to the kid, he called out abruptly before Roy could step out of the bathroom. Roy stopped.

“Don’t forget your things,” Jason reminded him.

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” replied in a plain voice, the kid started walking again. “I’ll take away all of my stuffs, you won’t even remember I was ever here.”

He stayed still in the bathroom and watched the small pool of water on the floor, until the distant noises of Roy packing up had died out and he was sure that the kid had already left the place.

When he stepped out into the living space, it looked as empty as he had expected.

The coffee table was left with nothing, not one screwdriver, or a piece of electronic part. It had been a mess all these times, now with everything’s gone, it almost seemed like a completely different furniture.

He regarded the table from a distance, getting slightly astonished by just how clean it was; it seemed so clean, it made him sick.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes. I made a reference to the infamous end of RH/A.  
> Despite how much the break-up has broken my heart, the whole break-up scene is actually like one of the most JayRoy moments to me, and it just really fit the way I see Jason.
> 
> And, yes, there're traits of N52 Roy in teen Roy, because both Pre52 Roy and N52 Roy are basically the same character, but they've become different because they have different life experiences, and they could easily turn into one another if the circumstances changes. I mean, that should be what the reboot all about, right? The possibility of life? And how the history might repeat itself sometime no matter the changes?


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I shoooould have gotten back to the scene where the Bat bros are talking at Arkham, but then I decided I wanted a drop of cuteness to go with the boring, serious stuff. So instead of filling the blank as I was supposed to be, I was like, "yeah, lets just add another part that is basically irrelevant and serving no real purpose in this stage of the story." And then the word number was climbing up because writing in a little girl's perspective just really fun and it didn't feel right to put this part and the Arkham part together. So actually I just left out the part that really should've followed the last chpt, and made an entire chpt of Lian and Roy(s) instead. Because little Lian Harper deserves to shine and show her character as much as everyone else. 
> 
> Comments and Kudos and highly appreciated!

She tried to sit still at the kitchen table, but seeing him heaped all the slices of hot, steaming pancakes upon her plate, she couldn’t help herself but swinging her feet with excitement. The plate in his hand had a pink ornamental border and a big, friendly teddy bear face right in the center; they had brought the thing together when they had gone to shopping one day, it come with the set tableware that had all got the same bear face printed on the handles.

Once the breakfast was brought to her, she launched at the plate immediately with the matching fork she had been holding.

She always loved it when daddy made the “Harper Deluxe”, which basically just a mountain of hot, delicious pancakes with lots of lots of syrup, topped with a large scoop of ice cream, some M&M beans and gummy bears. She had never been able to eat all of it, because it was a big meal and she was just a little girl; but the sight of it alone was enough to make her happy.

Although she would very much like to have the Deluxe for breakfast (and lunch, and possibly dinner) everyday, daddy refused to make it into a regular thing.

It wasn’t such a heathy meal, he said. And kiddies needed a heathy diet if they wanted to grow up healthily. If he gave her the Deluxe everyday like she asked, she would soon become the largest pumpkin in the world, which would make it rather impossible for her to be running and jumping around as before; because all the sugar and calories would’ve puffed her up like a balloon and made her so big and roundly, she would just end up rolling around on the floor (She was pretty sure daddy just saying that to scare her, but she did lay off the subject, because she would really rather not become a huge pumpkin and roll around on the floor. The latter actually sounded fun, but she hated being a pumpkin, let alone a huge one).

Daddy would only make the Deluxe after he had been called away on a mission and had to leave home for a few days, or whenever she was feeling sad because she had been expecting to see mommy soon but getting told in the end that mommy wasn’t coming.

“She wants to be here for you,” daddy had told her once, after seeing how upset she had gotten when she had been told that she couldn’t get to see mommy for awhile.  “Trust me, kiddo, she really does. She just…she just got herself trapped in somewhere, somewhere that…isn’t so nice, but she can’t get herself far away from it, because she has been there for a long, long time, it’s like—it’s like it is her homeworld.”

Realized she had gotten confused, he had put it in a way that might be easier for her to understand.

“You remembered Auntie Kory? The one with the hair?” he had asked, and she had nodded in response.

The talk that day had happened a couple of years ago, she had only met Auntie Kory once or twice at that point, but she had remembered her clearly. It’s hard to not remember someone that beautiful with that much beautiful hair.

Daddy had told her, “Like Kory, your mommy is from a different place. Not out-of-space different, but just…different, than the world we live. It keeps calling her back, even though--even though where she _should be_ is here. Even though she should be with us, she couldn’t stop herself from returning to that place. But she wants to be with you too, so she travels, between worlds, but the paths between our world and her world are challenging. And sometimes…sometimes I guess she just got really lost. That’s why she couldn’t find her way back to you. But she wants to be with you, Lian. She just…she doesn’t know how.”

“But why can’t we go to her,” sniffing her nose a little, she had asked. “If mommy can’t come to us, we can go to her. We can go and live with her.”

“We can’t,” Daddy had declined in a soft, bitter tone.

“It’s a bad place, kiddo. It’s dark and it’s scary, with so many horrible, horrible things. It’s not somewhere we can ever live.”

“But mommy’s there,” she had appealed to him in a meek mumble, trying to change his mind.

Daddy didn’t reply with another word, just pulled her in and pressed a kiss on her head. She had clung at him tightly, burying herself into his hug.

She had sobbed and sobbed inside daddy’s arms until she had fallen asleep. When she had woken up the next day, she had been introduced to the world greatest breakfast ever.

Since she hadn’t needed a mood-boosting recently, it was obvious that daddy wasn’t making the happy food for her this time.

Finished putting all the topping over another set of pancakes, daddy put the second dish in front of Roy (-- _The Roy with the scowl_. That’s what she had been secretly calling him, because he was always scowling, which was probably why daddy would make the Harper Deluxe, so he would stop scowling all the time and start smiling for once).

Unlike her, Roy with the scowl didn’t seem to be too excited about the world greatest breakfast.

Scowling at his set of food, he said to daddy, “Can’t I just have some toast?”

“You can. But this is way better.”

“Really?” Roy was skeptical. “From where I see it, it just kind of looks like a long agonizing future of diabetes.” Daddy snorted at the absurdity.

“If I haven’t started worry about diabetes, you don’t get to either.”

Seeing Roy still hadn’t picked up the fork yet, daddy raised his chin slightly in encouragement, “Come on, just try it. It’s good.”

“Just try it, Roy,” looked up from her dish, she chimed in promptly with a mouth full of food, “It’s sooo goooood.” Roy with the scowl lifted an eyebrow at her. Though he wasn’t grinning like daddy did, he did look amused.

Waited till Roy picked up the fork and started cutting the pancakes with it, daddy went back to get his own set of Harper Deluxe.

Bringing his own dish onto the table, he reached out a hand mindlessly, ruffled her hair before sitting down between Roy and her.

The breakfast went rather quiet at first, since she was busy stuffing everything into her mouth (“Slow down, little Ms. Chipmunk. What are you doing, are you storing up for winter?” daddy asked her, with his eyebrows raised exaggeratedly and his eyes glimmered with laughter. She wrinkled her nose at daddy and made a squeak in response. Chipmunk was cool, she wouldn’t mind being that. She liked the movies. And being a chipmunk was way better than being a pumpkin anyway) she didn’t have room for chitchat while they were eating and Roy with the scowl just appeared to be a quiet person.

It had started to come to her notice that Roy didn’t seem to like talking; which was kind of curious, because he looked _really_ like daddy, except he was younger, and shorter, with shorter hair, and he had a robot arm, and he scowled, all the times. But he looked like daddy, and daddy liked to talk.

Taken a glance at Roy who was feeding himself quietly, daddy spoke up, “It’s going to be fun.” His mouth cracked into a reassuring smirk. “I’m sure you’ll get along with the guys.”

“You make it sound like my first day at school,” Roy snorted flatly. “I’m not going to the Tower to have fun. I only agreed to join the team so I can get back to work.”

Daddy seemed to disagree. “Some people might make it look that way, but I can’t see how work and fun have to necessary cancel out each other,” he shrugged, then tossed a meaningful look at Roy, “I mean, despite how it turned out, we did have fun working with the old man, didn’t we?”

“It was a long time ago, incase you forgot. And I— _we_ \--didn’t work with him. We worked for him.”

Daddy stared at him for a long moment, didn’t look so happy about what Roy was saying.

“I know how it might’ve looked like, better than anyone,” he started carefully. “Sure he could be a tool, a negligent, self-righteous, egotistic tool even, but at least he’s a tool who cares, don’t ever doubt that. Don’t make it like it is all…nothing to him.”

Though she wasn’t quite understand what they were talking about, but she could see by the look on their faces that the subject daddy had brought up wasn’t such a happy subject. It wasn’t just Roy who was scowling now, daddy had a small, unhappy crease between his brows too.

Roy didn’t say anything, just stared gravely at the piece of pancake he had picked up with his fork.

Regarded Roy for another long moment, daddy let out a sigh.

“I don’t know what that guy might’ve been telling you, but you shouldn’t…”

“ _Don’t_.”

The strained voice snuffed off the sentence abruptly before daddy could get to finish. She looked up from her dish and took a peek at Roy, whose hand tightened around his fork.

Biting down something, Roy said to daddy, looking at him with a pair of stony eyes, “Don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t do, or think. I feel the way I feel about Ollie because of what happened between me and him, not because of me and…Red Hood.”

The way he pull the name out of his mouth made her wonder did names have taste; it looked like he had tasted something really, _really_ bad when he had said the name.

She remembered hearing that name before. Not from Roy, but from daddy, mostly when he was talking to Uncle Dick on the phone. Though daddy never sounded especially happy when he said that name, it didn’t seem to make him feel…whatever heavy, bitter things Roy was apparently feeling.

She wondered who Red Hood was. Was it a boy or a girl? It sounded like it was a boy, but was he an old boy or a young boy? How was he like, was he tall or small? Was he nice? Seeing the look on Roy’s face, that probably wasn’t the name of something nice. But despite how it didn’t seem to put Roy in a good mood, the name itself didn’t sound too terrible or horrifying to her.

She imagined someone with a red cloak, like the little Red Riding Hood. The outfit she was picturing in her mind seemed kind of cool; she wondered would daddy buy her one for the next Halloween. She could even wear it while carrying the little bow daddy had made for her the other day. She could be the little Red Riding Hood who hunted the big bad wolf and saved people from getting eaten by the naughty beast, it would be awesome.

“You should try eating the ice cream with the M&M beans and the gummy bears,” she suggested to Roy while pondering mindlessly. When you ate all those delicious things together, it’s so good and it’s so sweet, it’s like a rainbow exploded on your tongue, so surely it would help Roy with the bitter taste he was suffering. (She assumed rainbow was deliciously sweet, because, looked at how colorful it was. How could it not be?)

Surprised by her sudden words, both Daddy and Roy turned to look at her puzzledly, unsure of what she meant by that.

Before daddy could voice his confusion to her, Roy shook his head to himself and said to daddy in a dry voice, “Let’s just finish the breakfast, all right? Then you could drop me off to the Tower like we planned.”

Hesitated for a moment, daddy said, “Sure.” Though he didn’t appear to be so sure of giving up on whatever he was attempted to talk to Roy about, but Roy had already gone back on eating; so she guessed it would be silly to keep talking to someone who so clearly only wanted to eat his breakfast in peace, not talking about things that could do nothing but darkened his mood.

Just like anytime she had the Deluxe, she had only gotten to finish half of her dish before her stomach was full. It would be a shame to let all the good food go to waste, luckily, daddy was here for the rescue. Since he was a lot bigger than her, he could eat a lot more than her; as usual, he took her dish after finished his own.

Something was beeping somewhere while daddy was in the middle of clearing up her scraps. The sound made her heart sank. She knew that beeping sound; it could hardly mean anything good.

“Please don’t be an alien invasion,” murmured in exasperation, daddy left the table in a hurry and went to pick up the League communicator he had left inside his uniform.

Putting his fork down, Roy scrunched his brows in alarm, eyes following daddy when he walked away, and kept staring outside the kitchen just as she was doing at the moment.

When daddy came back, he had that sorry look on his face, and he had already changed his comfy clothes to his Red Arrow clothes. Knowing what that meant, she couldn’t help herself but pouted a little.

“I can’t take you to the Tower today,” he announced to Roy first, while stuffing his feet into his battle boots.

Roy nodded in acknowledgement. “Alien invasion?”

“Nope, meta-human on rampage, my second least favorite,” daddy replied sarcastically. “Nothing apocalyptic, but I need to go now.”

“Sure, I could go to the Tower myself. Or I can come with you and help out, unless I need to be old enough and get my license first,” said offhandedly, Roy stood up and was about to move away from the kitchen table. Daddy stopped him.

“Uh, no. You have to stay here. It’s supposed to be my day off, so I didn’t get any babysitter for today. Rose is on a trip somewhere, and I can’t find anyone this sudden. You have to help me out with Lian.”

He jabbed a thumb at her while saying to Roy in a highly serious manner, “This is the matter of great importance. The meta-human stuff is just meta-human stuff, me and the guys can totally handle it.”

The development must’ve been a shock to Roy somehow, because for a moment, he seemed to be at lost for words.

Daddy didn’t give him a chance to find the words.

“Don’t worry, it’s easy. Just keep her safe. I promise I’ll drop you off later, or tomorrow, depends on when the work is finished.” Then he moved toward her, “I’m _so_ sorry, pumpkin. I know I said we’d have the day to ourselves, but people are dying, so please don’t hate me.”

“I won’t, but I’m not happy,” she declared with her arms crossed. Since she couldn’t change what was happening, she figured she could at least try to negotiate, “You could make it better by stop calling me a pumpkin. Or maybe bring me present when you’re back.”

“Sorry, pumpkin. I can not stop calling you a pumpkin, it’s just against everything I stand for. But I’ll think about bringing you something, you little blackmailer.”

Hunching down and pressed a big kiss on her forehead, he said, “Love you.” And although she really wasn’t happy at the fact that he needed to leave so sudden, she couldn’t find it in herself to do anything but muttered a “love you” in return.

On the plus side (“ _Always look at the plus side,_ ” daddy had told her), Roy was staying, for at least one more day. It’s a good thing, because she had never gotten to spend much time with Roy.

Ever since daddy had told her about Roy, she had been really excited about getting to know him. But the first time daddy had brought him into their home, he didn’t even spend the night before he had gone missing, and now he had only been staying with them for a few days, then he was ready to leave again and go to stay with other young heroes, which, was good for him, she supposed, to meet some friends his own age and fight crimes with them. Though she couldn’t understand why he had to leave to do so. He could still make friends and work with them while staying with his family. That’s what they were, a family (“ _He’s a family,_ ” daddy had said months ago when he had told her about the boy he was about to bring home).

There’s some close relation between daddy and Roy, daddy had said, like sharing-the-same-gene kind of close, and they both had the same relationship with Grandpa. The things he had said were difficult for her to understand entirely, but she’s sure that pretty much made them brothers.

“You should finish your breakfast,” she reminded Roy, who didn’t sit down again after daddy was gone but kept standing at the kitchen table, like he had no idea what he should do, so he just stood there and looked serious.

The food in his plate was barely eaten, even she had eaten more than him. And that’s just not right.

“I’m full,” giving her a brief look, he replied abstractedly.

“But you should eat more,” she said in a reasonable tone, “It’d help you grow.”

The way he stared at her like he was getting a little exasperated by what she said, but also a bit amused. “I don’t see you finish your breakfast either, princess,” he countered mildly.

“Yeah, but only because I’m little. You’re bigger, Roy. And if you’re bigger than me, then you should eat more than me.”

They looked at each other for a couple of seconds, until Roy came to reckon that her logic was impeccable and that he had no way to trump it, so he just snorted at himself, sitting down at the table and picked up the fork.

Since she was done eating her breakfast already, she didn’t have much to do but to watch him while he ate.

It seemed to be making him uncomfortable.

“Princess?”

She hummed in response, kind of liked how he kept calling her princess. Daddy sometimes called her that too, but mainly he would just call her pumpkin. She had a suspicious feeling that daddy only insisted calling her that because he found it funny to ruffle her. She didn’t know why daddy had to be _so_ annoying sometimes, but since she loved him, she had no choice but accepted that.

Roy gave her a look from across the table. “Why don’t you go and see some cartoons?” he suggested. “I heard that dancing pony show is really good.”

“They aren’t dancing ponies.” she corrected automatically, “They are just little ponies, who dance and sing song. And no, I wanna wait for you. We could play houses or watch the TV together.”

With his face almost burying into his dish, he grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “Damn you, Roy”, which was just weird, because he was Roy. So why would he curse himself? Unless he was cursing daddy, whose name was also Roy.

“Are you cursing my daddy?” she frowned. “Why are you cursing daddy, Roy? Has he done something wrong?”

Eyes shooting up, Roy gaped at her for a second, looking like a deer in the spotlight.

“No,” he denied earnestly. “I…no, he didn’t. I’m just--really hoping I could get to the Teen Titans today, so I can get working, not babysitting, which I know nothing about. I’m…sorry, princess. It’s my bad. Your dad did nothing wrong.”

Satisfied with his answer, she dropped the frown and nodded in acknowledgment, getting back on watching him while he was eating. Roy ducked his head again and picked up his speed, probably had figured the sooner he was finished, the sooner she would stop staring at him.

Minutes later, Roy picked up the dishes on the table and brought them to the sink. She went to the living room when Roy started cleaning up the dishes.

Turning on the TV, she pounced onto the couch. She assumed Roy would come to join her once he had stepped out the kitchen. But in truth, he just stood behind the couch with his arms crossed over his chest.

Head stretched over the backrest, she looked at him and asked, “Would you like to sit down?”

He declined it with a shrug, continued on standing behind her like those bodyguard person she had seen on some movies, instead of a babysitter, who was supposed to be sitting down with the baby; that’s why they called baby _sitter_ , or at least that what she had figured.

She regarded him with curiosity.

“Are you nervous?” she asked.

“Am I--” he repeated dumbly, then stopped himself once he had realized he was kind of making himself looked dumb.

“Why would I be nervous?” he asked in return.

“I dunno,” she shrugged. He just sort of looked like he was feeling nervous, or maybe not nervous, but definitely uncomfortable. And he always kind of looked like that whenever he was facing her. She wondered what that meant. Did he get uncomfortable around her?

“I’m not nervous,” Roy declared curtly, struggled for a second then started walking to the couch as to proof his word.

She watched him sitting down on the other end of the couch, and she noticed how uptight he seemed, with his back holding straight, his arms crossed in front of his chest, and his brows knitted together into that little scowl of his. Even Rose, who had never once babysat in her life before, had seemed more relax the first time daddy had left her alone with her.

“Can I ask you a question?”

He glanced at her uncertainly. “Sure.”

“Why are you always scowling?”

He opened his mouth, but didn’t seem to be able to get his tongue working.

Seconds later, he said, “I—don’t always scowl.”

“But you do,” she indicated clearly. “Why.”

He scowled at her for a moment. “That’s just my face,” eventually, he answered in a deadpan way.

“But your face looks like daddy’s, and daddy doesn’t have a scowly face. He only scowls when he’s…when he’s getting mad at people, or…or when there’re things that make him unhappy.”

Mostly it was about mommy, or grandpa. Although families were supposed to make each other happy, but sometimes they just didn’t. It was a thing she had come to realize for quite a while now, because even though she loved mommy, and they were always happy when they were together, but there were times…times like when she really wanted to see her but mommy was no where to be found, the thought of her would make her heart heavy with unhappiness too.

The last time daddy had gotten unhappy, it wasn’t about mommy or grandpa though. It had happened several months ago when daddy had come home from a mission one night.

The noises outside had woken her up from her bed; when she had shuffled out her bedroom, Rose who had been babysitting her had left already, and daddy had sat alone at the table with a glass in his hand.

“Daddy?”

Hearing her voice, he had looked up. His face had seemed different, without any of the easiness or happiness he usually carried; and that big, horrible scowl on his face had made her wonder if he had been hurt somewhere.

“Hey,” he had greeted softly, trying his best to put up a smiley face. But the scowl had still been there, and he had still looked sad.

“What’s wrong,” she had asked.

Daddy had picked her up once she had gotten closer to him, putting her on his laps and holding her in a loose hug.

“Nothing,” he had told her, before he had remembered he wasn’t supposed to be lying. “It’s just—something I leant when I was in the mission, something about myself.”

“What is it?”

He had looked at her deeply for a moment.

“I’m not the person I think I am, Lian,” he had started with his lips twisted up sourly. “All these time, I think I was this person, but I’m not. I’m just…some copy of him, something that some bad people made to take this person’s place, to help them do bad things to our friends.”

“But you don’t do bad things,” she didn’t understand what he had said. “You’re a hero.”

“Am I really?” Daddy had retorted with a snort. “Heroes are supposed to be strong, honey. But I’m not always strong. And I don’t always do the right thing.”

“It’s okay you don’t always do the right thing,” she had muttered, after regarding him for a moment. Though she had had trouble understand the meaning of his words, she had understood fully that daddy was feeling bad, and she had needed him to feel better.

“You could make it right by doing something right,” she had said to him what he might’ve said to her. “And you’re strong, daddy. You fight bad people, and you could always open the pickle jar and pick me up and piggyback me around. You are super strong.”

Chin dropped on top of her head, he had puffed out a curt laughter.

“You do make some extremely good points,” he had said. And when she had pulled back slightly and glanced up, she had seen the corners of his eyes had crinkled up with amusement.

She had grinned in return, happy to see that he had been no longer scowling.

“It’s okay you’re not the person you think you are,” in the end, she had told him, with her face pressed into his chest where she could always feel loved and warm.  “You’re still my daddy.”

She pondered for a moment, trying hard to figure out why Roy was so scowly.

“People scowl when they are mad or unhappy. And you always scowl when you’re with us,” she stated in thought. “Does it mean you are mad at us? Or unhappy with us?”

She hesitated for a few seconds before continuing. “Is it why you need to leave so soon? Because me and daddy made you unhappy?” eyes turning up to Roy’s face, she asked in a small voice, feeling a little bit nervous about the answer.

For a moment, Roy just looked at her sadly.

“You guys are nice, princess,” finally, he replied. But it didn’t really sound like he was answering her question.

“Then why don’t you stay?” she asked. If Roy thought they were nice, then sure he would like to stay.

“I can’t,” he told her simply in a bleak voice.

Seeing how she was still looking at him and waiting for him to explain, he drooped his crossed arms, and turned to her slowly.

“Your dad—your dad built up this place, all by himself,” he started. “It’s a good place, princess, but it’s his, not mine. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do in here. I don’t—I can’t see myself in this place.”

“I don’t understand,” she murmured in confusion, and Roy tossed her a smile that wasn’t really a smile in her opinion. Smile should be happy, but there’s no happiness she could see on his face.

She wanted to understand, but she needed him to help her with that.

He tried to make it clear by exemplify, “Do you ever have a dream that you are living a life you haven’t actually imagined yourself living before?”

She shook her head after taken a brief thought.

“Well, your home is just…kind of like some dream dimension to me,” he said. “Some dream dimension where I’m older and I’m living this life. And in this life, I have all these stuff that I haven’t once pictured myself with, but then I see it, and I see how good some of those things are, and it’s just…painful. Because the life I’m seeing, it isn’t mine, princess. It isn’t me.”

Eyes moved away from her, he went silence for a moment. “It would be easier,” he said while pulling back into his side of the couch, “if I could just go somewhere else, somewhere…somewhere I could have a chance to find myself, and live my own life.”

She wondered could he find himself in the Tower. She hoped he could. Even though she was still confused, it sounded like it was a thing he really needed to do.

“I heard the Tower is nice,” she said to him supportively. “You could make a lots of friends in there.”

“I don’t really care much about making friends. I’m only going there because I need to work, and it wouldn’t be so bad to have some backup.”

But wouldn’t it be better if he could make some friends? Daddy had friends, he had a lots of friends. She wondered how many friends Roy had.

“Do you think you could be happier in there?”

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t be too optimistic about it.”

“Why,” she knitted her brows confusedly, but he didn’t answer.

She really wanted to help him out, really hoped she could somehow make him drop the scowl and the sad face, just like what she had done with daddy.

Unable to think of anything to say that might make him feel happier, she stood up on the couch, shuffled toward him and looped her arms around his shoulders. Roy froze up instantly by the surprise hug.

“Better?”

After giving his shoulders a squeeze, she pulled back slightly. There’s a trace of smile rose up to his face.

“Better,” he said, but the sadness was still in his eyes, and when she was looking at it so close, it was overwhelming.

She couldn’t take away the sadness of his the way she could do with the sadness of daddy’s. She guessed it’s because Roy really wasn’t daddy, despite how much they looked alike.

“You’re a good kid, princess,” Roy told her, mouth curled up into a small, sad smirk. “Just stay good. And no matter what happens, never run away from home.” He gave her what seemed to be a parting advice.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

“Where is Arsenal?”

As if someone just pulled off his expression switch, the face turned empty; there’s nothing presented on Jason’s face, not even the cynicism Dick had been meeting with this whole time ever since he had stepped into the private ward. He wondered did it mean the question had caught him off guard.

“What do you mean,” the younger man started in a dull voice. “You didn’t ask me about him last time when we fought. Wasn’t it because you know he’s back with his clone or something?”

“Well, he was.”

“Oh he ‘ _was_ ’?” retorted scornfully, Jason shook his head a little.

The guy was displeased by the news; which was interesting, because Dick was pretty sure his presence here was enough displeasure to Jason already, and yet, he had been responding insensibly, as though nothing Dick said could actually get to him. But the fact that Arsenal wasn’t with his family anymore seemed to be getting on the guy’s nerves. It didn’t need to take a pair of trained eyes to see that.

For some reason, Jason was exasperated enough, he didn’t even bother to hide away his exasperation. He ran a hand over his dyed red hair. The guy didn't give the police his name, and just like the rest of them, there's no record could be found on him, but still, Dick had taken some precaution, put some disguise on Jason before turned him in to the authority. Though Dick didn't actually think there would be anyone from Jason's past could be able to identify him as the supposed dead ward of Bruce Wayne, he didn't want to take the chance (The guy was  _not_ happy when Dick had come at him with the hair dye).

“That’s just great,” the contempt in Jason's eyes was clear, and his voice was stern with disapproval. "Tell me those idiots didn’t lose him again."

“They didn’t. Not really. He just left.”

“He doesn’t _just left_.”

The fact he was getting refuted was unexpected, and really, really intriguing. It wasn’t how he had imagined Jason’s reaction would be.

“He left you, didn’t he?” retorted offhandedly, Dick regarded Jason with curiosity.

It had been over a month since Roy had informed him that the kid had gone back to Star. “He’s okay?” Dick had asked, and Roy had replied, “He hasn’t bled on my floor, if that’s what you’re asking.” It wasn’t what he had been meaning to ask, but it was good to know.

“Has he said anything about Red Hood?”

Roy had gone silent.

“No,” few seconds later, he had replied. “But I think something happened while he was with him. I don’t know what that is, I tried to ask him but he just shut down on me.”

“Just give him some times. If there’s anything, I’m sure he’ll tell you. When he’s ready.”

“You know something, don’t you?” Roy didn’t response to his advice but had asked in return. “What is it, Dick? What do you know about the kid you feel like you need to keep it from me and Ollie? What happened in Gotham?”

“Nothing.” The lie had come out easily, far too easy for his own liking. He didn’t want to be the kind of person who would lie to his friends and kept them in the dark, but honesty wasn’t always the best policy.

When the possibility of being honest would only create trouble and worsen the situation, he did what was necessary. He should’ve seen it for too many times to know that it wasn’t something he should pick up; hell, he had even swore to himself at some point that he would never pick up this sort of thing from his mentor, but he did, and it wasn’t even because that’s what Bruce had taught him. Bruce had never taught him the importance of lying and being secretive, not with plain words; still, it had rooted in him along with all the trainings, sealed into his body and mind like a muscle memory.

“I don’t know should I believe you,” Roy had retorted in a dry voice, but he knew him well enough to keep pressing.

Sitting on the edge of the cot, Jason’s gaze fixated at the empty space in front of himself for a second, before returned the focus on Dick.

Giving no response to his word, the guy asked in return, “What happened.” Again, it wasn’t what Dick would’ve expected. Not a mindless reply of how the kid didn’t _leave him_ but merely left because the team-up didn’t work; or some snarky comment about how all of them were so incompetence, they would let a teenage run off from under their noses repeatedly. In fact, he asked Dick a simple question, as if it was more important for him to know what had happened to the kid, than took the chance and mocked them at their failure.

Not that Dick had thought Jason wouldn’t give a single damn about the younger Roy; he and Arsenal had been working together for months, and although the guy could be as cold-hearted and as relentless as he wanted, Dick didn’t actually believe that he would be so heartless he wouldn’t give a damn about someone who had been fighting at his side all those times.

He had to care at least a little, otherwise he wouldn’t be stepping in when Oliver had intended to bring the kid home against his will several months ago.

Though Roy hadn’t exactly spoken in great detail when he had talked about the encounter that night, he did mention at one point that Red Hood had had a gun to Ollie’s head after Ollie and the kid had gotten aggressive with each other.

“Sure the old man acted like a douche, I can totally understand why the kid would want to punch him in the face. _I_ would’ve gladly punched him in the face. But _that guy_ doesn’t get to do anything, definitely not threaten him with a gun. I don’t care if he’s an ex-Robin, I don’t care would you be mad at me, if he dared do anything, I’m gonna kick his ass to the end of the universe,” Roy had declared in a grim voice. And Dick knew he was speaking from the bottom of his heart.

He didn’t think Jason had actually had the intention to kill Oliver, but if he ever took a punch at Ollie or something, Roy would strike back twice as hard, that’s for certain.

They had been friends for such long time, he knew full well that how much Roy didn’t appreciate it when people messed with his own. Funny enough, it also seemed to be how the younger Roy had felt back when Dick had tried to stop Jason from killing Zsasz at the arena.

He knew the two of them had to be at least friendly with each other, but he didn’t actually consider Jason and the kid might be _close_. He didn’t actually think Jason would let himself to be close with anyone to be precise; as far as he knew, the guy hadn’t even made one close friend when he had taken after his role in the Teen Titans.

He recalled years ago, when he had run into the team during a mission. He had been ready to leave after the fight was over, but Raven had pulled him aside.

“ _You should have a word with him,_ ” the girl had said, eyes regarding the new young Robin who--from what Dick had seen during the fight--had been doing as good a job as he did not a long ago.

“ _He’s a good kid,_ ” Raven had told him, “ _but there’s anger in him, the sort of anger that if it isn’t getting contained, it would only grow stronger, until it breaks out and consumes the soul, until it burns everything into ashes. It might help if he has someone he could confide in, someone who could make him open up and help him with the thing he’s dealing with._ ”

“ _You’re his team now,_ ” not taking Raven’s word in mind, he had replied bluntly. The color of the costume before his eyes was as bright as he had remembered; it had looked so bright it hurt.

“ _If you think he might need someone to talk to, then be his friend and talk to him._ ”

“ _But that’s the problem, Nightwing,_ ” Raven had shaken her head with worry. “ _I don’t think any of us could be able to get to him. It doesn’t seem to me it is his intention to push us away, but he isn’t letting us in either. But you are his predecessor, his family, he might open up to you._ ”

Taken one last look at the kid, he had turned his eyes away.

“ _I’m sure he’s fine,_ ” was the only reply he had given.

The way he had seen it with his young, callow eyes, it wasn’t his place to say anything, it wasn’t his responsibility. It was Bruce’s decision to take the boy in and pass on the uniform, it was Bruce’s responsibility, not his. If he didn’t get to say anything before, then why did he have to say anything now. And if there really was something troubling the kid, sure Bruce would notice and know how to help.

“ _I’ll see you guys soon,_ ” leaving Raven and her advice behind, he had walked away.

Although he was several years older than his successor, although he had far more experience on the job, he didn’t think he had been any less of a kid than Jason had been at that point.

How long it had been when Raven had talked to him about Jason? He wondered. It kind of felt like a life time ago, and it probably was on Jason’s part, because only a couple of months later, the kid had gone missing from his own home, and when Bruce had brought the kid back, he could only bring back a scrap of a body.

Jason had only been with the team for a short period, and it would seem that the only reason for him to left Gotham and join the others it’s when the team had required help from a Robin. (“ _The new one is fine, but I don’t trust him,_ ” Garf had said at one point after telling Dick how much he had missed him. “ _I mean, he’s smart, he’s capable, and he’s…cool, I guess. But I don’t think any of us can actually call him our friends. He isn’t exactly friendly, you know. He doesn’t blend in like the rest of us. Sometime he would even run off and chase the bad guys on his own, like he forgot that’s a team of people who can help him, like he doesn’t trust us to have his back or something. How can we really trust him if he doesn’t trust us?_ ”)

From what he knew, the guy hadn’t appeared to be a lousy team-player, or that he was horrible with people; despite how he might’ve had a few squabbles with his teammates, or that he hadn’t seemed to be any fond at teamwork more than Bruce ever had been, Dick believed he was at least better with people than Damian (Although, truth be told, the comparison really didn’t mean much). He had just never gotten close enough with anyone to be friend with them, to confide in them, to form the sort of bond he and Tim had formed with _their_ teams.

And apparently, the younger Roy wasn’t any better at team-playing either.

He answered Jason’s question, “The kid has stayed at Red Arrow’s for a few days, then he's moved in to the Titans Tower. It didn’t work out.”

The information didn’t seem to surprise the guy.

“Why?” The usual cynicism was back on; Jason retorted mockingly with a ghost of a sneer, “Was he being mean to the children?”

Well, according to Tim, Arsenal wasn’t _warm_ to them, that’s for sure.

“It’s not like he’s treating us like we are his enemies, but I really don’t think he’s seeing us as his friends,” Tim had told him. And since Dick was entirely sure he’s still mad about Damian, he knew Tim wouldn’t have contacted him if he hadn’t really needed to talk.

“He jeopardized the whole mission by went outside the plan and doing whatever he wants.” He could hear the frustration pouring out of Tim’s voice. “He’s like a loose cannon, Dick. And I don’t know how to—I don’t know if any of us could keep him in line if he's just suddenly getting all vindictive again or something.”

He told Jason what he had learned from Tim, “The team was investigating a case, something Luthor might’ve involved. The few of them, including Arsenal, was doing some recon in a LexCorp facility. Arsenal blew up the place, because apparently, ‘ _Luthor deserves it_ ’.”

In response, the guy hummed nonchalantly, as though he couldn’t see if there’s anything wrong with that.

“And that’s not all,” Dick continued. “He went AWOL during a mission. The team was captured, and he could’ve easily gotten them killed by busting out recklessly and left his teammates behind.”

Jason raised his eyebrows slightly in a questioning manner. “He didn’t go back for them?”

“No, he did. He kind of saved them, actually.”

“So what’s the problem.” The guy really didn’t understand.

“Problem is, it isn’t what you do when you’re in a team. You don’t act out and went outside the plan. You don’t go AWOL and you certainly don’t leave your teammates behind. It’s not a one man action. He can’t just think about himself, he has to think for the others.”

The thing he was saying to Jason was probably quite similar to the thing Tim had said to Arsenal before he had released him from the Teen Titans about a week ago.

“I know he has been through a lot,” Tim had said to him. “I want to help Arsenal to get better, to get past what he’s going through. We all do. We all want to be his friends, we want to get to know him, but he isn’t making it easy. We can’t know anything about him if he doesn’t open up to us. And we can’t trust someone we don’t really know.”

The kid had paused for a beat, then when he had started again, his voice had become strict and heavy.

“We have worked _so_ hard,” he had said, and Dick could practically hear the weight of responsibility he was bearing. “--We have done _so much_ to build up this team, to not just keep the legacy of you guys alive, but make it into our own. All of us together--we have been through a lot for this. I can’t let him jeopardize it. I can’t let him put everyone into danger. He’s welcome to become one of us, but if he really wants to be one of us, he needs to be willing to work through his issues first. And I don’t think he is.”

When Dick had picked up the call, Tim had said he was calling for his advice, because he didn’t know what he should do. But it had seemed to him, that wasn’t true. The kid had known exactly what he should do, he had just needed someone to help him feel easier for the decision he was about to make, the decision he had needed to make for the sake of his team.

He didn’t think Tim actually enjoyed being a team-leader any more than he did, but that’s what the kid was. Not just someone who could make a strategic plan and give people orders, but someone who would step up and take the burden, no matter the weight (“ _I actually believe those who never feel the burden are dangerous to be put in charge,_ ” many years ago, Superman had told him when Dick had come to him for advice).

Dick stated in conclusion, “What Arsenal was doing is not acceptable.”

“Don’t get overly dramatic,” Jason replied tersely. “So he didn’t want to get caught and he bolted, it’s not like he would leave the others to die.”

He said it as if he knew. Dick could easily say the same thing about Red Arrow, but that’s because he knew Roy thoroughly and he trusted him with his life. He didn’t know much about the teen. People didn’t just change, not in a fundamental level; but they could become different. What happened to them had made them what they were today, all the big things and the little things, they altered the way they felt, the way they saw things, the way they reacted. They were shaped by the event that happened to them, the environment and the people around them, for better or worse.

“You sound like you trust him,” Dick pointed out after assessing Jason for a couple of seconds. He didn’t know enough of the teen to say anything about him, but Jason apparently did.

“I’m simply stating a fact,” Jason said, and there’s no trace of anything Dick could detect from him. He’s good, he would give him that.

“So?” he prompted Dick to go on, though he already knew what had happened next. “Did the replacement decide to kick him out for not following order like a good little boy scout?”

Dick replied matter-of-factly, “Arsenal has left the Tower about a week ago, after he was released from duty. Red Robin assumed he has gone back to Star, but he didn’t.”

“Ain’t that a surprise,” remarked sarcastically, Jason tossed him a look; the corner of his lips curled up into a sneer. “So he’s missing again, and none of the Arrows has ever thought about putting a tracker on him before dropping him off to the boarding school. Don’t these people need to pass at least one intelligence test before they’ve gotten in to the League? Have _you_ ever taken the test? Or you’ve just gotten in by inheritance?”

Well, here’s the snarky remark he was bracing himself for. Dick thought to himself dryly, while he returned the question, “Did you?”

“Did I what.”

“Put a tracker on him.”

“What makes you think I would ever do something like that,” the guy made it sound like he was confused.

In reply to his question, Dick simply stated, “I have a dozen trackers on Robin.”

“He’s not Robin,” responded thoughtlessly in a dull voice, Jason then paused for a second. “And I’m not one of you control freaks,” he added, and Dick had no idea if he was just trying to be funny.

“You two have been together for months, you must have some ideas on where he might be or how to find him.”

“I don’t know how to find him,” Jason raised his shoulders into a vague shrug. “If he’s gone, he’s gone. He’s not my…it’s not my duty to keep tabs on the kid.”

His voice was as plain as the expression on his face. It _seemed_ like he was speaking the truth, but tone and facial expression could be deceiving, and this one here certainly knew how to put up a disguise.

Unsure of whether he should take Jason’s word into account, he inspected the guy thoroughly.

“Do you want us to find the kid only after he has been wanted by the police for blowing up another facility?” he pressed, “for killing Luthor or something?”

“You think he would do that? Kill Luthor?” Jason huffed out a snort. “If he wants Luthor dead, he wouldn’t have blown up his company, he would’ve just blown up that big, treacherous bald head of his.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” He gave Jason a look, that he’s certain the meaning was sent out clearly even through the cowl. “He has killed before, hasn’t he?”

Although where he might be getting into was unclear to him, but the fact that the carelessness was drained in an instant and the guy was stabbing his face with sharp, frigid gaze was enough to inform Dick that he was getting _somewhere_.

“Two months ago, the commissioner called me in to a pier,” he stated clearly, “He thinks you might be responsible for the shootout that happened in there and I agree. But there’s something I saw in the crime scene that just didn’t seem right. Most of the bodies in the pier were killed by bullets, except this one guy, named Marc Spencer, who was shot down by what seemed to be laser force.”

The second he had seen the wound on that certain body, he had known exactly what had caused it, and he had known what the wound meant. But he didn’t want to jump into conclusion before he could see the autopsy report for sure. Then the autopsy report had come in, and he had known from his guts that his theory was right.

“Arsenal killed him, didn’t he? And it’s not just Marc Spencer. There were others. Following the shootout, there’re at least three murder cases I know of that I believe were your work, but not all of those people have died at the hands of yours. Some of the bodies I saw on the crime scenes were killed by the same laser force that has killed Spencer. Those are the people who died by Arsenal’s hand.”

Jason enquired in a cold voice, “Do you have any proof to that?”

“No, but you two is the only couple who comes with guns and a laser weapon. I don’t need to be the world greatest detective to connect the dots.”

“We’re not couple,” Jason countered mindlessly while he was pondering. “How much did you tell the police.”

“Nothing,” which was the exact amount he had told Roy or anyone. He didn’t know how the guys might’ve reacted if they knew the teen had been killing criminals in Gotham, but surely, they would’ve showed some reaction, and he didn’t want to find out what those reactions would be, because it had seemed to him that it would do nothing but worsen the situation for everyone.

He had thought maybe he could find the kid himself and talk to him, in attempt to figure out if he’s really fine with crossing the line, if he really believed that what he and Jason had been doing was right, if he’s really that far gone he would choose murder as the solution.

But the kid had left Gotham before Dick could track down him and Jason. And all these weeks while Arsenal had been back with the others, Dick still hadn’t shared his knowledge, still keeping everything that had happened in Gotham as a secret; and apparently, the kid didn’t seem he wanted to share anything with anyone either.

It would be better if Dick kept the information to himself. If Arsenal wanted Roy and the others to know, he would’ve told them already. The fact that he had gone to Roy and agreed to join the Teen Titans had indicated the kid had tried to put everything in Gotham behind him; Dick didn’t want to be the one who ruined that for the kid, and he also didn’t want to worry his friends and complicate things.

Before the teen had taken off, he had thought maybe he could go and have a talk with him personally; but there had been so much going on in this city that had required Batman’s presence, he never could find the time. And if Roy and the guys couldn’t get the teen to open up, Dick probably wouldn’t have had a better chance with that either.

Jason assessed him for a moment.

“Good,” in reply to Dick’s answer, he said bluntly. “You shouldn’t say anything, because you’re wrong.”

His brows rose behind the cowl. “You are meaning to say you have nothing to do with the shootout and all the other crimes?”

“No, that’s me. I’m just saying it’s rude of you to give credit to someone else for the things I did by myself.”

Confused by what Jason was telling him, Dick shook his head a little. “You don’t actually think I would believe that.”

“Do I _look_ like I care about what you believe?”

He didn’t, but what he was saying was a plain lie.

All the murders, starting with the shootout up until the teen had left town, Jason hadn’t committed alone. Arsenal had been there, and not just as a bystander. It didn’t make sense. Dick knew Arsenal had killed some of those criminals the two of them had brought down together; why wouldn’t Jason just admit it?

“The kid has participated in the murders, why do you lie about that?”

“I didn’t lie, Batman. I’m telling you the truth. Would it kill you to accept you’re not right all the time?”

Unaffected by the retort, he stared at Jason for a long moment.

“I thought you would be proud,” he started slowly, head shaking in puzzlement. “I thought you would just admit it, and use it to help with your argument or something. Like you, the kid has crossed the line, he has abandoned our rules and taken the extreme measure. He has chosen to do _your_ things instead of ours, giving the criminals the right penalty for what they have done, because you’re right, that _is_ the only solution.”

“Are you agreeing with me now?” Jason darted him a dry look. “Because if my memory serves right, I could recall you were just telling me minutes ago about how wrong it is to kill the scums.”

“Yeah, but that’s me thinking, not you. You don’t think that, you don’t see things that way. From what you have been telling me, you think murdering the bad guys is only the right thing to do. You believe in what you’ve been doing, you believe the justice of it, believe that we can’t actually make a difference until we are willing to cross the line. So why won’t you admit it? If it’s really such a good thing, then why won’t you admit that-- like you--Arsenal has killed for the sake of righteousness.”

It didn’t add up. Dick was baffled by the illogical of it, but then an explanation came to him.

“You don’t really believe that anymore, do you?” he questioned slowly, carefully. “There’s doubt in your heart, that’s why you’re trying to protect the kid. Because you _know_ killing is a bad thing, that he should’ve never taken a part of.”

Though he had been trying to reason with the guy, but Dick wasn’t really naive enough to think that Jason would’ve showed remorse for his own action just because Dick kept telling him how inacceptable such action was. The guy was as stubborn as him (“ _You could be such a stubborn ass, you know that?_ ” He had been told more than once), and Dick couldn’t just force his eyes to open if he refused to see, if he was just simply unable to see.

Jason had been on a killing spree until Dick had finally been able to bring him down and sent him to the police about a week ago.

It wasn’t unusual of Red Hood to leave a body trail behind, but he had been taking it to a higher level; he had been hunting the criminals and executing them, and he had left a signature on each crime scenes. Not a bloody bat symbol he had drawn at the scenes when he had been wearing that Bat armor before Dick had stepped up and taken the cowl, but some sort of lyric, writing on a small business card that was similar to the one Dick had discovered several months ago on Zsasz’ death bed, speaking of blood and punishment (Damian had believed without a doubt that Jason was the one who finished off Zsasz because of the “R.H.” card, but Dick wouldn’t be so sure of it. The card was blend and impersonal; he thought Jason might’ve been more…dramatic than that. And he also didn’t want to believe that the guy would’ve murdered an innocent cop and a doctor just so he could get to Zsasz).

It had started about the same time Arsenal had left Gotham. Dick didn’t think there might be a connection between the matters, but now he wondered.

Jason had been making things as high-profile as possible, the only way he could top that, was to leave some chopped head right outside the police station. He had been out spilling blood which wasn’t exactly what he had seemed to be doing while he was with the kid. Sure he had killed, but when Dick had gotten to the crime scenes and seen the bodies, he had seen the work of a professional, not the work of a maniac.

Though the killing was still clean and methodical, there’s trace of emotion behind every little detail in the recent murders. Dick had seen enough works of professional killers to know it wasn’t just someone doing his job.

Since he had only focused on bringing down Jason and stopped the killing, he didn’t think about _why_. What might’ve caused the change, why Jason had suddenly decided to take thing back to the way it had been when he was out to take over the role of Batman after Bruce was gone, after he had been called back to Gotham and received Bruce’s last word.

Back then, Jason had been rattled by the video Bruce had left him. Dick wondered what had rattled the guy lately.

Everytime he had acted out and gotten extra vicious, it had seemed to Dick like he was trying to prove something, like he was out looking for a fight (and if it’s a fight he wanted, then a fight he would get. He and Damian had run into Jason three times while he was on his killing spree, each of those time was an unpleasant experience; Red Hood had gotten away twice, and actually caught them and humiliated them in front of the public once, but in the end, they had managed to stop him and bring him down).

What he was saying to Jason hit a nerve. He could see it by the response Jason was showing.

Head stretched out slightly in a threatening manner, he looked like an enraged predator that was one step from pouncing off its position and attacking.

“ _What I_ ** _know,_** ” didn’t confirm or deny his theory on why he had lied about the teen, Jason responded in a chilling voice, “--It’s the war couldn’t be ended until the enemies are no more. What I do, it doesn’t need to be **_good_** , it doesn’t need to be **_the_** _**right thing**_ , it’s just what needs to be **_done_**.”

With his mouth broke up into a biting sneer, he regarded Dick with mock curiosity, “Do you think you and Batgirl might’ve had your own children by now, if Batman has just put the Joker down many years ago like he _should have_ before that psycho could get to her? Have you ever wondered would you be living a much more peaceful life, if the scum who killed your parents is dead before he took them away from you? What happened to me, to Batgirl, to your parents, is just a tip of an iceberg. How many examples do you need to see until you finally open your eyes? You can’t win by playing by the rules.”

“But you lost, by sinking into their level and playing into their hands,” Dick replied unmovingly. “Has the irony just escaped you somehow? You hate them so much, you want to punish them, and you’re doing it by turning yourself into one of them. You let them win by winning you over.”

The reply came slow, and the voice sounded like it was coming from somewhere deep. Somewhere pitch dark.

“Maybe that’s the thing,” Jason replied. The gaze that was carving Dick’s face eased off, he pulled back into his pervious posture, sitting on the edge of the cot casually with his hands drooping on his laps. His hands were slack, nonthreatening; but the tension remained on his broad shoulders and his cold face, and it screamed danger.

“I’m always one of the criminals, aren’t I? Didn’t the old Bat ever tell you what I was doing when he and I met? I didn’t sink or be turned somehow, if anything, I’m just walking down my road.” Pausing for a second, he informed Dick in a dull voice, “And just for your information, the kid was a tagalong. We hang around for awhile, because it seemed like fun, and that’s it. He doesn’t have anything to do with all of those bodies you said. Because like the rest of you do-gooders, he’s never had the guts for that.”

Though Dick still didn’t believe that, but it didn’t appear it could go anywhere further, no matter how hard he pressed. The guy had his mind set and he was sticking to his story.

Instead of kept pressing Jason about the red-haired teen, he tried to focus on Jason alone.

He tried a different approach.

“So you’re telling me you are a bad guy and you’re fine with that,” Dick stated plainly. “You’re just fine with throw away everything he has ever taught you. Throw away what you have been years ago, when you were wearing the symbol of something good.”

He took a moment of thought. “--When we fought for Zsasz at the arena, you said you can do the things he couldn’t do, because you’re not like him,” Dick recalled, “you made it sounds like you don’t want to be anything resemble to him.”

“I don’t.”

And Dick didn’t buy it.

He looked at Jason closely, trying to see through the mask, the armor, trying to put aside the moral issues for once and look at things from an objective way.

“You said you're unlike him, said you don’t want to be like him. But in spite of the method, I think you’re actually doing what he would’ve done,” Dick pointed out neutrally, “You took matter into your own hands, you handled things in your own way, no matter the consequences, the potential damages. No matter how many people have told you that is wrong, you do it and you keep on doing it, because you think that’s the correct answer, and you’re willing to do it even though you’re alone in it.”

When Bruce was gone and Jason had put on that armor, he had thought the guy was doing it because he had already thrown away everything Bruce had ever taught him. But now he realized it wasn’t true.

He didn’t know how he hadn’t realized that before. Jason had been doing the exact thing Bruce had been doing all his life; he wasn’t _fighting_ the criminals like the most of them did, he was _**warring**_ against them. He was just taking it further than Bruce would ever allow himself to be. He didn’t throw away what he had been taught; he had thrown away the restraint.

“You’re actually following his example.” Dick couldn’t help himself but huffed out in amazement. “All these time, I thought you are the one who resemble him the least, but I was wrong.”

Jason was slicing his face with a pair of eyes that were sharpened with anger. “I’m nothing like him. And I stopped following his example a long time ago,” he declared in a deep, firm voice. Dick shook his head in disagreement.

“Then why are you here,” he asked rhetorically. “Why are you staying at Gotham, why you have been doing what you did. I thought you might be still angry with him, I thought you are still resenting him for sparing the Joker’s life. But that’s not the case, is it? At least not entirely. ‘Cause if you really resent him—if you really so despise everything he stands for--then why haven’t you taken a revenge on him? Why don’t go after him and show to the world that his method was futile? You didn’t even show your face in Gotham again until he’s dead and left you that video. And when you did, you literally turned yourself into your own version of Batman.”

“That’s because none of you has known how to take care things. You didn’t even want to step up— _you_ , the _original_ \--the heir to his throne. You couldn’t even take the cowl, you just left the city to burn.”

“Yeah, but why _you_ have to be the one who stepped up,” he countered in a calm voice, didn’t let Jason get into his head. “If you have really thrown away everything, if everything really means so little to you, then why you feel like you should take the responsibility, why should you be ‘ _doing our dirty works’_? Why not just leave Gotham behind, why hunt down the criminals instead of become a contract killer or something? Why don’t _you_ leave Gotham to burn? Why don’t you burn down the city yourself.”

There’s no response coming from Jason. The guy just glared at him with his mouth sealed tight and his face darkened. Dick didn’t need to hear his answer, because his answer could only mean so little.

“ _Don’t take things at face value, and don’t take everything someone told you for the truth,_ ” one time, Bruce had said when he had been teaching him how to be a detective. “ _People lie, and even if they don’t, they could only describe things from their own perspectives, and it could be misguiding. You want to discover the truth of something, you couldn’t do it just by hearing words, you need to look at the fact objectively, you need to analyze them, and find the only explanation that would make sense of the matter. Behind every act, there’s a reason, you need to be able to see through how something has happened, but most importantly, you need to figure out **why.** Because in the end, it’s all about motive._ ”

“You did what you think is helpful,” Dick concluded, “because you want to help. Because even after everything—even after the death--you still haven’t forgotten what he has taught you, and just like him, just like the rest of us, you still want to help out.”

He could’ve just left it, just put all of this behind him. He could’ve let the criminals level the city while Batman was absent. But he didn’t. He had stepped up and he had helped, he just wasn’t doing it right.

For a moment, Jason kept his mouth clutched, didn’t make a single sound but just glaring at Dick with a face full of shadow.

“I don’t care if Gotham burns,” slowly, he started, voice stern and emotionless, “I don’t care if the _world_ burns. I was just showing you how incompetence you all are.”

It sounded believable, but Dick refused to believe that.

He replied in an equally stern voice, “You can say anything you want, but I know you still want to help, and you could. You could still come back to us, still become one of us, if you would choose to do the right thing.”

Jason scoffed. “Who gave you the power to decide what’s right and what’s not.”

“Who gave you?” Dick countered easefully, unconcerned by the challenging question.

He considered for a second before continuing, despite how Jason was looking at him as though he might’ve jumped up and strike at any moment if Dick didn’t back off. The look was scary, but he was the guy who dealt with scary things everyday. If the lethal weapons Jason had been pointing at him hadn’t been able to back him down, he sure wouldn’t be back down by a stormy look or some threatening word.

“You claim you don’t want to be like him,” Dick said in an even tone, “but I think there’s a part of you that wants to be exactly like him, and it pisses you off because all you could see is your differences. And you’re right, there’re differences between you and him. There has to be, because you two are different; each of us is different in our own right. But you’re also an arrogant stubborn ass who have too much confidence in yourself, who are unwilling to accept the possibility that you may be wrong, who are too damn proud and too damn skeptical to put the trust in others, to accept help when people offering you help. I think you two might have much more in common than you think.”

He waited to see if Jason would like to object, but the guy said nothing. That’s fine, he was used to being the one who did the talking anyway.

“He refused to let go of the tragedy, he clung at it instead, drawing strength from it,” he told the younger man, in a voice that was softened with nostalgia.

“He’s always been drawn to the darkness and I think it’s a dangerous thing to do. But that’s him, the man who would do dangerous thing. The man who has made mistakes, who has thought he was making the right decision when he really wasn’t. But he’s also one of the greatest men I ever know. Because he’s a good man, and he’s strong. Not strong because he’s one of the top fighters in this world, not because he could win against the odds all the time, but because he could find a way to win even if he was losing, even if he has already lost. There’s darkness in him, but he didn’t let himself to be taken by the darkness. And even though I think it might have physically pained him to do so, he did manage to reach out for help occasionally.”

Jason replied in a bleak voice, “You think by saying all these to me is going to change anything?”

“I’m just saying since you two already have something in common, then why not let it be one of your commons too,” Dick said with a shrug. “Perhaps it’s easier for you to think you are nothing like him, same as it is easier to sink than to climb up. But there’s a part of him in you, don’t even bother to deny it.”

Like Bruce, Dick himself had made mistakes too. There had been a time he could’ve offered his help to a young boy who needed someone to set his mind straight, to help him overcome his own trouble. But he had let his own emotion get the better of him, he didn’t step up and help. He was willing to admit that was a mistake, and he was willing to mend things. He was willing to help, but he couldn’t force the help into somebody’s hand. He couldn’t rewire someone’s mind and make them see the way _he_ see. He couldn’t force someone to become better; it wasn’t his decision to make.

“You still have a chance to do good,” he said to Jason what he had actually said to Damian once. “You just need to be better than succumbing to your worst self.”

Jason looked at him blankly.

“The good thing you do, it comes at a cost. How do you sleep at night knowing every bad guys you have put in jail would just break out one day and went straight back onto their evil ways. How do you sleep knowing everything they’ve done, every blood they spilled? It’s on you.”

“I sleep after patrolling all night,” Dick replied casually. “And how do you sleep anyway? Alone?”

The guy didn’t answer, which was enough answer for him.

“Doing what he did comes at a cost, that’s why I never wanted the cowl,” he told Jason in return. “But I’m wearing it now, and I accept that there might be price to pay. And do you really think there isn’t a cost in what you've been doing? Look around you, little Wing, you are literally paying for your crimes right now.”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” Jason spitted abstractedly.

He wondered what might happened if he kept pushing. The guy wasn’t breaking yet, but there’s a crack on his pretension. Dick could see the true face—the true anger and the true frustration--through that small crack.

He knew better than to push his luck.

He couldn’t say how productive this whole interaction was. He didn’t find out anything useful about Arsenal, and he didn’t know how many things he had said might actually make a difference. But he didn’t think it was for nothing, because now, he knew there’s still hope in Jason.

“Just think about what I told you. You have plenty of time to think in here,” he said, before turning to leave.

Jason called out suddenly as he pulled the door open.

“If you really want to help, then get me out of here,” Jason said. “Put me to Blackgate, not here. This is a nut house, and maybe I’m crazy, but I’m not _**insane**_ , I have all of my psychological exams to prove that. It would be less insulting if you just piss on my grave than put me in his kennel of freaks.”

It wasn’t a thing Dick could help him with.

“You’re in Arkham for your own safety,” Dick simply replied. Giving Jason one last look, he then walked out the private ward.

“I will not be housed in here,” before the door closed behind Dick, he could hear Jason saying.

He didn’t think there’s anything Jason could do about it, but it turned out, he was wrong.

Two weeks later, the petition the guy sent to the court for a transfer to another correction facility was approved. Red Hood was sent to Blackgate.

 

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

The abrupt sway of the van jogged him up slightly from his seat, he steadied himself by taking a firm grip on the bench he was sitting on; the officer who was driving in the upfront pulled the brake instantly after the van skidded, stopping it form going into the wrong side of the road.

There’re some noises rising from the outside once the transporter went still; he couldn’t quite hear the words the people out there were shouting at each other, but he’s pretty sure he was hearing some gunshots.

He could honesty say he was not expecting this. It was supposed to be a simple, uneventful ride. The only episode he thought it might happen was Grayson found out about the transfer and intercepted him before he could get to the destination, which, would only turn out to be a fail attempt for the Bat Wonder. For once, he had actually resorted to legal measures; if Dick wanted the transporter to turn around and bring him back to the nut house, he would need to get through the court first. The guy could pull all the strings he had in the law department, but by the time he could get the court to change its decision again, Jason would already finish what he was meaning to do.

Only thirty seconds later, the noises died out and the iron door before him was pulled open. Three thugs standing outside the carriage, all of them wore a ski-mask and had an automatic shotgun pointing at his direction.

“Hi, fellas,” regarding the men curiously, he greeted them in a pleasant manner. “I don’t suppose this is a surprise welcoming party for the new tenant in Blackgate?”

“Move,” not seemed to be impressed by his pleasantry, one of the ski-mask thugs ordered crisply, gesturing with the gun.

At the moment, he was unarmed and wearing a pair of handcuffs; if he acted fast enough, he might be able to take these guys out, but there’s no say of how many bullets he would be catching before he could accomplish that.

Since he wasn’t keen on catching bullets without wearing any sorts of protective clothing, he rose on his feet with his arms drooped, moving out of the police van under guarded.

The transfer officers were lying dead on the road; he took a glimpse at the bodies while he stepped past the police vehicle.

He was walked to the back of a meat truck that was waiting upfront. “Up you go,” the guy who had spoken earlier pressed the gun against Jason’s back suggestively, after one of his buddies yanked open the door.

Once he stepped into the back of the truck, two of the armed men followed him inside, backing him up to a corner and keeping him at bay from a safe distance; the one who appeared to be the gang leader went to the front with the driver.

“Where are we going?” Jason asked as the truck started moving, “Is there any chance I might still get to the prison today? It’s kind of on my schedule.”

The two thugs who had already removed their masks traded a jeering look with each other.

One of them smirked at him, “Forget about your schedule, Red. You’re not going to jail.”

He had figured as much.

“Don’t call me Red,” corrected absentmindedly, he wondered which of his enemies might be behind this. “--It sounds like we are buddies or you trying to be cute. I’m pretty sure we’re not buddies and you’re about as cute as a mud in the stinkiest part of the sewers.”

The guy leaned forward with his gun swung up, looking like he would very much enjoy teaching Jason a lesson by clubbing him with the automatic shotgun. Jason would like to see him do that, because it meant the guy would need to move away from the truck door and get close.

Sadly, his pal stopped him before he could make the move. “Just stay still and keep your mouth shut,” that guy demanded Jason in a grunt, seemingly aware of the fact that just because he was handcuffed without any weapon, didn’t mean it would be smart for them to get careless with him.

Never mind, there would be another chance. He said to himself, hands lifted up slightly at the guy in acknowledgement.

The door was opened from the outside once they had reached their destination.

Hopped off the carriage as he was instructed, Jason was being led into an old abandon building by all of his kidnappers including the driver.

Inside the building, a woman in a trench coat was standing alone with one of her hands in her coat pocket, while the other one was carrying a suitcase.

It was an attractive woman, not exactly his type with the curly blond hair and the vibe of a typical goomah, but she was nice-looking, and Jason had no idea who she was.

“You’re late, Curt, I’ve been waiting here forever,” the blondie bitched to the gang leader. In return, the man flicked her an easy smirk.

“We got to take some detours, make sure we aren’t followed.”

The excuse didn’t seem to satisfy her; hummed displeasingly, she raised her chin at Jason. “That’s him?”

“In the flesh,” Curt grinned, while one of his guys nudged Jason forward with the gun barrel.

Without moving any closer, the blond inspected him from head to toe.

“I didn’t imagine him to have red hair,” she concluded thoughtfully. Curt seemed to disagree.

“I do. I mean, that’s like his gimmick, right?”

“It’s not a gimmick. And let’s not talk about that,” getting slightly annoyed, Jason broke them off promptly. The worst part of the day he had lost the fight to Batman and Robin, wasn’t even the fact that he lost the fight, but the part where Grayson had approached him with the hair dye while he had been tied up on a chair, and the obnoxious little demon had stood there and watched him with a devious smirk.

Getting his hair dyed by Batman once was more than enough, he didn’t think he would experience it twice. He would really appreciate it if he didn’t be reminded of how his hair looked like right now.

He looked at the woman curiously. “I assume you are the one who orchestrated this whole thing. Who are you exactly?”

“I’m the one who’s going to end you, Red Hood,” the blond announced with a vicious grin, “—for killing my puppy.”

Jason wasn’t sure if he was hearing this right.

He knew things in Gotham could get ridiculous at times, but _that_ might’ve been a little bit too ridiculous even for this city.

“Please tell me you’re not talking about a real puppy,” he confirmed cautiously. “Sure, I wouldn’t call myself an animal person, but I never do anything to the animals…”

“I’m talking about _Marc_ ,” the woman cut him off with a bark. “— ** _Marc Spencer_** , do you even know his name?”

Only too well. Instantly, the look he gave the woman turned cold.

He thought he was never going to hear this name ever again after Dick had visited him at Arkham two weeks ago, but clearly, he thought wrong. Damn name was everywhere. It almost seemed like it was _haunting_ him.

Why this one, he couldn’t understand.

He had ended loads of them and none of them mattered (“ _\--I think it does._ ” The pair of green eyes was looking straightly at him. There’s the speck of shadow he had seen before; it wasn’t always there, but it was there now. And it wasn’t fury he saw inside, unlike months ago when he had first looked deep into those eyes and gotten drawn by the heat. It was bleak and dreary, like a scorched hole in a man’s socket, staring lifelessly into nothing).

So far, none of the dead had ever come back and bitten him in the ass, what’s so different about this one guilty scum (“ _It’s not actually about that guy, right?_ ” Of course it wasn’t. It didn’t need to be _that guy_. It could be any other one just like him. There’s nothing special about him, no value he had ever held to this world. He could die as insignificant as he was, or he could die and let his death to be a practice session for someone else who deserved to live. Bottom line was, he could die and no one would ever give a shit).

“You killed my man, and you’re gonna die for it,” the woman told him with determination.

The flame in her eyes was as bright as the color of the lipstick she wore. For a moment, he just stared at her. Then he hunched forward and his shoulders started to shake.

It could easily be anyone. Any enemies he had made as Red Hood. He was entirely sure there had got to be dozens of them waiting for him in Blackgate; but he wasn’t with them as he had planned to be, because the girlfriend of the _only one guy_ who he hadn’t actually killed with his own two hands had decided to break him out of his transport to jail and take a revenge on him.

He wanted to say that _this_ was like the best joke that had ever been made on him since the joke with the _crowbar_ , except this wasn’t a joke.

It’s fucking _**comedy gold**_.

“Stop _laughing--!_ ” the blond was shouting at him. “What’s wrong with you? You think this is funny?”

Hand moved out her coat pocket, she rushed forward with the pistol she clearly had been holding all along pointing steadily at Jason’s face.

“I _loved_ him,” she declared in a choked voice, “I know we’re not perfect, but god, I really loved that cheating sonofabitch. We’re going to get married, you bastard! Now thanks to you, we’ll never be, and you’re going to pay--” at that, she cocked the gun.

To Jason’s—and the woman’s--surprise, Curt the leadman of the delivery gang stepped in immediately.

“Wow wow, Darleen, slow down,” he tried to calm her. “We only agree to do the delivery, we don’t wanna be a part of your personal shit. So how about you pay us and let us scram first, then you could do whatever you want with the ginger here.”

Shooting a glare at the man, she gritted out reluctantly, “Fine.”

Without lowering the weapon, she handed out the suitcase she had been carrying with her other hand.

The man opened it once he had taken the suitcase over. Seeing the amount of money inside was right, he closed the suitcase in a click and nodded with satisfaction.

“Looks like our deal is done.”

Eyes still fixating on Jason, Darleen replied impatiently, “Now scram, boys. I’ve got someone to kill.”

“About that.”

As the moment Curt drawled in a meaningful tone, those three from his gang raised their guns, and all the weapons were pointing at the woman.

Talked about episodes in Gotham. Standing between two of his kidnappers, Jason thought sarcastically.

“I’m sorry for doing this, buttercup,” with the money safely in his hand, Curt flashed the woman a grin. “But I can’t let you shoot my merchandise.”

“What the fuck are you playing?” Darleen spitted with her eyes bulged, looking mad and confused. “I paid you!”

“And I held up my end of the bargain, didn’t I? I gave you Red Hood, and now I’m gonna bring him to somebody else,” Curt replied nonchalantly.

“We all know everyone in the jug is going to want a piece of him once he’s there, and you’re not the only one who wants this guy for yourself. Some people contacted me right after you hired me for the job. I don’t know if they want to waste him like you do, or if they want to recruit him or whatever, what I do know, is me and the boys get paid once we deliver him out of town—alive—incase we’re not clear. And I’m just not the kind of man who would say no to the green.”

“You _rotten, two-faced, stinking son of a whore--_ ”

Curt gave the angry woman a disapproving look.

“No need to get personal. It’s just business, pretty. I’m sure your old boyfriend would understand that,” he said reasonably. “Now why don’t you put down the gun and stay where you are. Unless you would like to go join your puppy.”

Darleen looked torn, eyes darted between all of the men rabidly, with her grip on the gun kept flexed and unflexed.

The standoff existed for about fifteen seconds, then the tension was broken as Jason free his hands from the handcuffs and reached at the armed thug who was standing just a little bit too close to him. He always liked a good standoff, especially when everyone was busy pointing guns at each other, no one was paying him any attention.

All guns turned around from the woman to him once he had taken the move. Darleen let out a startled cry and stumbled aside at the first gunshot.

Standing several steps away with her gun held up, she looked like she wasn’t sure who she was supposed to be shooting. Before she could figure that out, the man who was struggling against Jason got his arm twisted; the gun in his hand went off before Jason took over the weapon. The misfired bullet grazed Darleen in her arm, she yelped in pain and dropped her gun. A dying man fled across the floor and landed right in front of her, making her no choice but to step back and leave her pistol on the ground.

It didn’t take Jason long to take down those guys. They might’ve been a professional at their works, but none of them had been trained the way he had been trained.

Finished off the other three, he went for Curt the leadman, disarmed him quickly, then knocked him down with a swing.

His finger was already on the trigger, but he stopped and considered for a second, wondering if he needed to find out what’s the deal with those other people who wanted to keep him out of jail.

From what he had heard, the guy didn’t seem to know much about it, and to be honest, Jason didn’t really have much interest of finding out what those people wanted from him either.

Whether they were someone he had crossed before who wanted a payback, or they were some organization that was impressed by him and looking for a new recruitment, he wasn’t interested. If they wanted him, they could try and get him themselves. He could handle them the same way he handled everything, smartly, efficiently, and single-handedly. (" _Hey, short, red and broody, mind lending me a hand?_ " After spending about an hour trying and failing to get the heating system to work, he had huffed out a frustrated sigh, put down the tools and turned to the redhead. " _Call me short again and see what happens,_ " Roy had warned with a grim face. " _\--And I feel like you're always using the word 'hand', tell me I'm not being over sensitive here._ " " _You're being over sensitive,_ " Jason had told him. Grunted a " _Move over, Zombie man_ ", Roy had squatted down next to Jason and given the heating system a quick inspection. " _That's it,_ " the teen had declared, " _We're not going to have any hot water any day soon._ " " _Damn it._ " That was not the thing Jason had wanted to hear. " _It can't be true._ " He had looked at the redhead earnestly, but Roy had just shrugged. " _Nope, it's true,_ " the kid had said. " _But I really want the hot water._ " Snorted at the gloomy look on his face, Roy had given his shoulder a pat. " _Tough luck, big guy,_ " the teen had replied, " _Seems to me we'll just have to struggle through._ ")

Decided Curt had no use to him after all, he gave the scum a headshot, then turned his full attention to the last person besides him who wasn’t dead or dying yet.

The blond-haired woman had her hands and knees on the floor, scrabbling for the gun she had dropped earlier.

Stepped past a man who was bleeding out on the ground, he fired a warning shot at Darleen’s way.

While the threat caused her to flinch, it also aggravated her. Recovered from the instant shock, she went for the weapon again, but Jason was already right in front of her and swiped the weapon out of her reach.

“Forget it, Darleen,” he told the blond. The gun he had been using was held in the hand that had still got the handcuffs hanging around its wrist. Dropped the gun from his shoulder, he picked open the lock the same way he did the other side of the handcuffs.

Taking a glance at his gun, Darleen glared up at him.

“You’re going to kill me? Like you did my puppy?” the woman spitted, and Jason gave her a shrug.

“It would only seem fair,” he replied unconcernedly, “Seeing I’ve already taken out all the others in here, if I leave you out, people might think I’m sexist.”

“You think you’re _funny_? You _sick sonofabitch_?”

The blond was gouging his face with her madden eyes, and the color of her snarling red mouth suddenly reminded him of something.

He remembered how that big, bloody mouth had cracked into an enormous grin the instant the murderer had realized whose mercy he’s at.

“-- ** _Now this_ _is_ _funny,_** ” the clown had cried out cheerfully under his cold gaze. He could have ended him right there, and it would be the greatest favor to the world.

For a moment, he had been really tempted, especially when the clown had just laughed louder and louder as he had hit him harder and harder. But he had reeled it in at the last moment. Because he wasn’t looking to do anyone’s favor. It wasn’t even _justice_ he had wanted, because sometimes, there really had no justice. What he had wanted was one big reckoning. He had wanted closure. He had wanted answers and he had wanted the _truth_. And he wouldn’t be able to get any of those if he had just taken the Joker out simply.

It wasn’t about _him_ , after all. That green-haired laughing virus was just the punchline of the story.

“ _I don’t know what your **stories** are,_ ” Leslie had said back at the clinic, “ _but it’s clear to me that the boy needs help, and so do you if you think violence is life._ ” He had listened to the doctor and he had wondered how many times she had offered her help to Bruce, in an attempt to save him from walking down the endless road he had been walking.

What Leslie had said hadn’t touched him in the slightest. He didn’t need help because he wasn’t _helpless_. He was always helping himself in that small, stinking apartment, or in the cold, stinking streets. He didn’t require help from anyone, he could help himself _just fine_ and he could help Roy.

Or so he had thought (" _Ha._ ").

Darleen spitted at him, “If you want to kill me, then cut the crap and do it. Otherwise I’m gonna hunt you down and I’m gonna make you pay.”

He regarded her in wonderment.

“Your puppy was as good as those guys you hired,” he pointed out. “Is that the kind of man you deem worth dying for?”

Darleen snarled in response, “Don’t talk like you _know_ him.”

Well, she’s right, he didn’t know Marc personally--“ _You don’t know that. How’d you know that._ ”--and he didn’t need to.

He didn’t need to know how the man liked his coffee, or what his favorite color, he didn’t know his story, had he got a loved one somewhere, had he been loved by someone or important to someone, was he going to be a dad and a husband one day. All he knew was what the man had done, and that’s more than enough.

“ _It’s the crime, not the people,_ ” Batman had said to him once. The man was the smartest person he ever knew, but what he had said just sounded stupid.

Without those people, there would be no crime. ( _The way Bruce had looked at him made him realize there’s something wrong in the response he had given. But he had only spoken his mind, what was so wrong with that? Why did he have to look at him like he had something **wrong** in his **mind**_.)

Never once he had stopped and wondered. Who they were, it didn’t matter. There’s no point in questioning.

He regarded the blond for a long moment. From what he had gathered so far, this was a woman who would be willing to take revenge in the cost of the lives of the police officers, who had every intention to commit a murder and perhaps had already done some murders before. It didn’t seem to make her anything better than her dead boyfriend, and her boyfriend was a scumbag. He should’ve finished her off. Just one simple shot, that he didn’t even need to be thinking to accomplish.

“Stand up.”

Hoisted the gun over his shoulder, he reached down and brought the blond up to her feet. The woman struggled slightly in confusion. The right arm of hers had been grazed by the misfired bullet, but it was nothing but a small graze. Putting a hand on her elbow, he walked her out of the building, heading to the meat truck that those guys had used for the delivery.

Stopped at the truck with his gun put aside, Jason pulled out the pair of police handcuffs and handcuffed the woman to the vehicle.

“Just stay put, Darleen. The cops will be here to pick you up soon,” he said, and Darleen scowled with suspicious.

“What, you’re just going to _leave_ me here? You’re not…you’re not gonna _kill_ me?” She looked at him as though she was wondering what the hell was wrong with him.

He was kind of wondering the same thing too.

“Think I’ve reached my quota today,” replied simply, he went to pick up the gun again, didn’t give the woman another look.

A thought of something pulled at his feet as he was in the half-way of walking out. (“-- _You want to know what I’ve been thinking a lot?_ ”)

He turned back and looked at the woman closely. There’s nothing showing on her thin body, but it might only because it was still on the early stage.

It could be a lie coming from someone who was about to die and would say anything to prevent it from happening, or it could be true, and it still wouldn’t matter.

The answer of the question didn’t matter. Whether he had the answer or not, it wouldn’t change anything.

“Hey, Darleen,” since he was thinking about the question already, he asked anyway, “--Are you pregnant?”

 

 

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

Hearing someone entering, he glanced away from his set of breakfast. The man walked slowly to the table and slumped into the seat across him, looking scruffy and apparently feeling more than just a bit hangover.

He didn’t know when the man had come home last night, he could only assume it was crazy late, since he had spent the whole night poring over the technology books the man had in his study, he hadn’t slept until three in the morning.

Seeing how the man was reaching for the coffee like his life depended on it, the gala he had been invited to last night must’ve been quite a party. He hoped he could join; not that he had any interest to learn how to be one of the posh people, but he did like to be introduced to some new things, and a classy social event would definitely be a new experience to him. Too bad those were adults only.

Swallowed down the bacon in his mouth, he asked with a tinge of irony, “Do we need to change our schedule?”

“What?”

His heart sank at the confused look on the elder’s face. But then the man continued, “--Why would we need to change our schedule? You’ve got other plan today?”

“Nope,” eased off instantly, he returned the man a grin. Though the boss had great memory, he did tend to forget things when he was occupied by something far more important. And there’s always something far more important, because the boss was an important man, he hadn’t always got the time to hang with a kid.

It wouldn’t be a surprise to him if the man had forgotten about their plan to the science fair, but he would rather appreciate it if he hadn’t.

“Just thinking you might need to lie down and take some rest,” he replied in a light voice. “Have you checked the mirror today? You kind of look crappy.”

“You think so?” the man touched his face concernedly. He snuffed out a laugh by stuffing some more breakfast food into his own mouth.

“Yup,” he responded with a nod. “Like, really horrible. You wouldn’t want your picture taken by some paparazzi with you looking like this. I’m serious, boss, you might need to put on some makeup before you leave the house.”

Huffed pensively, the man pointed a finger at him in accusation, “I think you're just trying to hurt my feeling. And it’s way too early for my feeling to be hurt. So why don’t you show some respect, kid.”

Before he could reply to the playful scold, the phone the man was carrying started to ring.

The man put down his coffee and answered the phone.

Lowering the fork onto his plate, his brows creased together in concern as the look on the elder’s face turned gradually grim during the phone call.

“Okay. Don’t do anything rush, I’m on my way,” the boss exclaimed in the end, after talking with his employee for a couple of minutes.

Picked up the coffee again, the man chugged it all down and stepped away from the table. “There’s some problem in the branch at Chicago, I need to go,” announced quickly, he walked out the dinning room and went to pack his things.

And just like that, whatever plan they had today was thrown out the window.

 _It isn’t his fault._ Sitting alone in the dining room, he said to himself.

The man was busy, so he had to leave town again after he had only come home a few days, and he got ditched. It’s no big deal. It was just some stupid science fair anyway. If he wanted to go so badly, he could always just go alone.

His hand tightened around the fork. _Don’t act like a **child** , Roy._ He scolded himself, trying to get his hand to loosen up. The grip was tight, clutching to the silver fork like the disappointment to his heart.

He felt stupid to get disappointed for such petty thing, and the feeling of feeling stupid was as irritating as the fact that the man seemed hardly able to keep his promises to him.

After all these time, he should really know better than to believe those empty promises. But again and again, he fell for that, as though he was unable to learn.

The breakfast in the man’s plate was left untouched. He stared at it for a couple of seconds, then returned his eyes to his own plate. There’s still some food left on it, but he didn’t feel like finishing his breakfast anymore.

Walking out the dining room slowly, he caught the man at the door before he left the house.

“I’ll be back in a couple of days,” the boss told him the same thing in the same way he had said to him when he had headed to one of his trips, that eventually had cost three weeks.

“Think you can handle yourself?” the man asked with an easy smile, and there’s only one answer to that.

“Always,” he replied mechanically.

Satisfied with his answer, the big, callused hand reached out and ruffled his hair. The weight of that hand bore down his head, his view was curtained by his own red fringe.

He shook his head after the hand had left, swayed aside the strands of hair that had fallen over his eyes.

When he looked up, the man who had already stepped out the door was saying, “Be good. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

The door closed gradually before him as Ollie walked away.

For a moment, he did nothing but stood facing the door.

He could say for sure there’s something creeping behind his back, and at first, he thought it was the _silence_. The same sort of silence he could hear constantly in the first couple of weeks when he had started sleeping alone in the room that Brave Bow had given him at the Dinétah, the same sort of lousy, deafening silence that had been keeping him awake for days when he had first gotten in the city streets.

It had never bothered him before. Unlike the city, the woods were quiet, and dad was quiet. He was the only talker in that old wooden house, if it wasn’t for him, the place would be filled up with silence. But even the silence in that small, simple home was comforting; he had never needed to hear the man, he had just known he was there (He wasn’t there anymore).

In the end, the lousy, deafening silence would be gone; and in the end, it would always just come back and eat on him when he least expected.

He could feel the skin of his back was prickling by the sense of empty quietness; then all of a sudden his skin got torched and he was in _pain_. That’s when he realized it wasn’t the silence that was creeping up behind him.

It was a **_fire_**.

There’s a fire in the mansion, he spun around abruptly with his eyes widened in horror. The whole house was swallowed up by the raging flame. He wanted to do something, wanted to put it down, to get it under control.

But the fire just kept burning stronger and stronger. The molten flame spurted at his face, forcing him to retreat. He turned back to the house door immediately, but the door had vanished along with the big mansion he was supposed to be in.

The place around him shrank into a small, cryogenic chamber. Horrified by the situation, he banged rabidly on the glass hatch that he was currently trapped behind.

There’re a few people turned up at a distance, he yelled for their help as loud as he could, but the damn pod must’ve been sound-proofed, because none of those people out there seemed to be noticing.

While he was stuck in that small, suffocating place with the fire attaching on his back, the people on the streets were walking and talking friendly with each other.

As the people drew closer, he could see their faces. Once he had recognized those people, his brain went blank and his hands fell stop against the unbreakable glass.

The instant he stopped banging against the hatch, his hands grew numb.

Bit by bit, the emerging coldness iced up his hands, and the chill spread from his hands to his body.

Realized how little he could get himself to move, he tried to yell again, but it was too late, his tongue was frozen.

Unaware of what was happening to him, those three men out there continued on chatting with each other.

At the other side of the glass, Ollie was laughing at something Brave Bow had said to him. It must’ve been funny, because even dad who didn’t usually laugh out loud was laughing too.

Although the fire was still clinging tightly on his back, roasting his skin and peeling it off from his muscles, he felt cold all over. There’s no heat he could feel in his body, except the heat that was biting his eyes. His dad looked up casually to his direction, as though he was sensing his longing gaze.

The man looked older than he remembered. Older than he had ever gotten to be.

“Hey, kid,” mouth curled up into a smile, his dad greeted in a warm voice.

The voice was like a punch to his heart. He wanted to reply. He wanted to _shout_ , and _run_ to him, and told him how much he still _missed_ him. But no voice coming out of his mouth, he was getting iced up and no part of his body seemed they were capable of moving.

 _It’s okay,_ he thought, with the tears streaming down on his face. Now he see him—now they knew he was here--they would come and fetch him.

To his confusion, dad didn’t move a step forward.

Ollie raised his arm and waved at his direction. “Here, Roy,” the blond-haired man called out, and he didn’t understand.

 ** _No_** _,_ he shouted in his head. _No, no Ollie, don’t you see? I can’t move--_

“--Hey.”

Someone appeared on the scene. He turned to the voice in bafflement; a look of it, and he understood.

He knew now why dad didn’t move, why didn’t none of them seemed to be concerned and try to do something.

None of them was paying him any mind, because it wasn’t _him_ they were seeing. It wasn’t him they were talking to.

_No._

Ollie looped an arm around his shoulders once the other Roy Harper had gotten among them.

It was him. But it was not **_him_**. Because he was still out there, how couldn’t they notice? How could no one seem to realize?

 _Don’t_ , he cried out, but the people had already started walking. _Don’t, no, no, please don’t, don’t leave me here don’t leave me alone no no please don’t—_

Untouched by his soundless cry, the people walked further and further away.

Without him noticing, the fire on his back had died out; and without the cracking sound of the fire, the quietness filled up the small, freezing world he was stuck in.

With the tears iced up painfully on his face, he stood frozen inside the cryo chamber where he was getting left behind, and it felt like he would have to spend an eternity in there, cold and alone.

It felt like he was forever being left. But it wasn’t true.

It wasn’t true, because it was just a dream.

None of it was real. Suddenly, he realized.

He had been to this kind of places before, he could remember. It was just his mind playing trick to him, soon he would wake up and the nightmare would stop.

 _But what if it wouldn’t?_ The terror seized his heart as the thought entered his mind.

What if he didn’t wake up this time?

The pair of blue eyes was staring directly at him. “ ** _Then I’ll wake you up,_** ” he promised.

Inhaled sharply, Roy stretched his eyes open.

Finding himself waking up with his face against the table, he let out a rusty grunt, hand fumbling along the edge of the thing until it could find its way to the top.

Lifted himself up from the table slowly, he rubbed his numbed face a little, then ran a hand over his head.

His hair was in the same length it had been for months. He had shaved it into a buzz-cut several months ago, right before the older Roy had brought him out the sick-bay at the Hall; and he had shaved it back into the buzz-cut again the night he had decided to try it out with the team.

It wasn’t his idea though, to go join the Teen Titans.

He wouldn’t have spent a month in the club if the other Roy hadn’t caught him leaving the apartment that night.

“You really weren’t kidding when you said you’re just going to stay for a few days.” The voice had risen behind him before he could open the door.

He had turned around slowly, while the guy had switched on the light of the living room.

“Just seems to me there’re enough people here who could watch over this city, and I don’t feel like staging anyone up, so,” he had replied, and the guy flashed him a smirk.

“That’s what you're worried about?” Red Arrow had said in a humorous tone, “Don’t worry kid, I’m not going to get all green eyes on you and make some elaborate plan to prank you if you stole my spotlight. I’m actually terrified of getting under the spotlight anyway. I’m secretly a shy person.”

He had snorted with amusement. The old guy was mouthy, and he could remember himself being like that when he was…well, younger. But with everything weighting on his mind now a day, he just really didn’t feel like being the funny guy anymore.

“Good to know you’re not petty, papa Roy. But I still think I should go somewhere less crowded.”

“Is that your nickname for me?” the guy had responded with an amused look.

He didn’t bother to answer but turned again. The older Roy had stopped him before he could go anywhere. “You don’t need to go.”

But he did.

The place was like another world to him. The mansion had felt like another world to him too when Ollie had first taken him in; but back then, it hadn’t been hard. He could adjust effortlessly, because he had had the illusion of having a new home, and for that, he had felt like he could do anything and handle everything.

Sometimes when he had watched the older guy and that dark-haired little thing, and he had felt the apartment was like one big illusion.

But there’s no illusion in the house of Harper. The guy had been trying hard to help him settle in, but he couldn’t settle into that house because he wasn’t anything in that house. ( _He wasn’t anything._ The thought had jumped into his mind while he had been watching the father and daughter who had claimed they had been cooking but actually just kind of goofing around in the kitchen. Suddenly, he had realized how dry his mouth had felt. And his throat had also felt itchy, yearning desperately for some fine elixir.)

He didn’t have the illusion of finding a home in there. That wasn’t even what he had wanted when he had called the guy.

All he had wanted was some help, some break from the self-poisoning that had unsettled him a little when he had realized it had seemed to be all he had been doing after he had left Gotham for days.

He had needed to snap out of it. But he didn’t know how. He had wanted to put down the bottle, freshen up and go out and find himself some crimes he could fight, some people he could punch. But his head had been killing him, and whenever he had closed his eyes or stared at something, a piece of everything had flashed across his view and it wouldn’t leave him alone until his head was filled with drowsiness.

He would admit it, but only to himself, that he had called the older guy out of desperate.

But two days were enough to sober him up; there’s no reason for him to stay at the Harper’s anymore (It wasn’t his place, after all).

He hadn’t answered the guy with anything. Red Arrow had shaken his head.

“I can’t say I know exactly how you feel, but I’m sure it mustn’t be easy. I won’t stop you if you want to go, but you don’t need to run off on your own,” the guy had told him. “You remember the team we were planning to build with the others when we’re a kid?”

He had scowled with question. “You mean the old sidekick club.”

“Yeah, but no one likes calling themselves that,” the guy had replied with a soft snort.

“Everyone has their own things now, but the team is still there. And you could be a part of it.”

He had never gotten to be a part of it. Before he had gotten kidnapped, he and the other kids he knew had been talking about building up their own team. But when he had woken up from his state of come, the team was long since built and passed on. Those ones he had known before who he had once reckoned they could’ve become friends weren’t the ones he knew anymore.

“You think it’ll work?” he had asked in a pale tone, after considered for a moment. The guy had shrugged and tossed him a vague smile.

“It's got quite some good kids in there,” the older Roy had said. “You’ll have people to watch your back. And I don’t see why you shouldn’t have a chance with something you missed.”

Though he didn’t have any strong feeling for that, he did take the elder’s advice and give the teamwork a shot.

It was safe to say, that it really didn’t work.

“--And _why_ , do you think?” sitting across him in the consulting room, the blond-haired woman had asked him couple of weeks ago, after hearing his defense on why it was necessary for him to blow up that certain place.

Apparently, the action he had taken at the LexCorp facility was considered to be a _bad_ move. When he had seen Black Canary, he had known something was up, and his guess was right. The woman hadn’t just come to the Tower to give some of the children an extra training as she had originally claimed. The real reason she had been there was because Drake had contacted her and asked her to give Roy an evaluation after the LexCorp incident (Drake might be a good guy, but Roy didn’t think they would ever be pals).

“Why have you found it necessary to do such action?”

“Because it _was_ necessary,” he had replied to Dinah evenly. “Drake didn’t think it was enough evidence, but we all know what those stuff for. Everything Luthor had in that place was bad, and he was going to use them for his evil plan. I can’t just leave it and went back on scraping for _proof_. What I saw in that place was proof enough. And if you ask me, I think that guy definitely deserves to have his places blown up every once in a while.”

The woman had inspected him for a moment. “Do you think Luthor deserve to suffer?” she had asked in a calm voice.

“You don’t?” he had retorted with a quirk of an eyebrow. The blond had flicked him a smile.

“I do. But we’re not here to talk about me, Roy. We are here to talk about you,” she had replied. “How do you feel about everything?” She had tried to dissect him with her keen eyes, and he did not appreciate that.

“Not just what happened days ago in that facility, but what happened.”

He had shaken his head. “I feel screwed, if you must know,” he had told her crisply. “—like everyone would’ve felt when they have gotten screwed over by the bad guys.”

“But you’re not just angry with the bad guys, are you?” the woman had asked in reply. “I heard what happened between you and Ollie.”

“And you are meaning to say that I shouldn’t be angry with him?” the look he had given her was frigid, “that I shouldn’t blame him because it wasn’t _his_ fault?”

It wasn’t his fault, sure he knew that.

It wasn’t the man who had put him into a decade of coma and taken away his arm and his life. But so what it wasn’t Ollie who had put him in this state. So what _he_ was the one who had run off and gotten lost himself.

It felt right to be angry with the man, because he had every right to be.

Because he had believed in him, had put every ounce of trust he could scrape from his body into him. Because he had respected him greatly, and he had admired him greatly, and he had thought even though he hadn’t always been there, at least he would _care_.

He had thought he was something to the man, but it had only turned out that he wasn’t ( _He was never anything to anyone_ ).

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t be angry,” Dinah had said. “It’s reasonable to get angry, to feel hurt. It’s reasonable to have bad feelings. But those feelings aren’t any good to us, and they wouldn’t be lessened if we just keep hoarding them up. They wouldn’t disappear if we just stuff them into a dark corner and look the other way.”

She had waited for a moment, but he had had nothing to say to the matter.

“How have you been doing lately.”

Puffed out a dry snort, he had replied, “I don’t know what Drake has said about me, but I’m actually doing fine.” And it was the truth. Once he had gotten back to work, it was enough to keep him occupied, he hadn’t been spending much time with himself, so he hadn’t needed a drink to save his mind from all the thinking and questioning, not until he had been about to turn in, that was. But that’s only because he did needed some shuteye every once in a while.

Not seemed to be satisfied with his answer, Dinah had looked at him thoughtfully.

“You know what people feel when they are doing fine?” The woman had told him, “They feel fine, not angry. And right now, I can see you’re still angry.”

“You said it’s okay to feel that.”

“Yes, but you can’t be angry forever,” she had stated calmly. “And to be honest, I don’t think your anger toward the incident is the true problem. Some people have anger in their nature, I’ve met people like that before, even in the other team I’m in, there’s this angry woman who is one of my best friends. People who have anger problem aren’t something unfamiliar to me. But the Roy Harper I know is never an angry person.”

“Haven’t you checked the news, Mrs. Green? I’m not the Roy Harper you know.”

Unaffected by his retort, the woman had responded with another friendly smile.

“Then talk to me and let me know you,” she had said, and he could see she was being sincere.

Looking away from her face, he didn’t say anything.

Not seemed to be thinking much about his silence, the woman had continued, “I have known a lot of people who have had a traumatic incident, and I have seen various reactions. Everyone has their own reaction to trauma, but the thing is, everyone reacts, because no one person could go through such thing unaffected. Sometimes people are affected because of what the incident has made of their lives, how it changes their future. Sometimes it isn’t about the incident itself, but what it means to them, what it has spoken to them. I don’t know which one the case is right now, and I could only help if you would talk to me, let me know your side of the story.”

She had leaned toward him slightly from her seat, and for a moment, he had really been tempted by her kind voice and her kind gesture.

He had looked up at the woman, and he had parted his lips. But he didn’t know how to start, didn’t know would she understand, would she judge him for that if he told her some of the things he had done and the reason he had done them. Would her eyes turn cold and her face tighten with distaste when she realized what kind of person he was deep inside, or would she just try hard to fix him because she deemed him to be something that was in need to be fixed.

“ _But why the hell would you need to be **fixed**?_ ” the big guy had said back at the base, and instantly, the words had taken off some of the tension on his shoulders.

He had looked at the guy he had barely known anything about at that point, and he had realized it was okay. It was okay that he felt mad all the time. It was okay that he felt like his mind was in a constant state of getting drilled painfully by some sharp objects. It was okay that his arm looked like a can opener and that he didn’t feel like he was still the same boy he had been before he had fallen into sleep.

It was okay, because there’s nothing in him that was not okay. The event hadn’t broken him yet, he could still carry on with his life. Because he wasn’t weak, he was strong enough to carry on.

Eventually, he had said nothing to Black Canary. He liked the lady, he just didn’t really feel like pouring out his heart to her.

Seeing he had stayed unmoved, a tint of disappointment had risen up to her face.

“I want you to trust me, Roy,” leaning back into her chair, she had started slowly. “But I understand you may find it hard to do that since you don’t know me well. It’s fine you couldn’t find it in yourself to talk to me, but you need to talk to someone eventually, about the event, about everything that’s been on your mind. Because if you don’t, those things would just keep eating you up.”

The woman had inspected him for a moment. “Have you ever talked to anyone since you woke up?”

He did, in fact.

The memory of that night when Ollie and the other Roy had caught up with them at Gotham several months ago had edged into his mind.

He had recalled curling up on his side and staring at the dark for a moment. The soft steady breathing next to him was almost inaudible, but it hadn’t been lost to him. There had been space between their bodies, he couldn’t feel anything with his skin, because no part of their bodies had been touching. But the existence of the guy had been unmistaken.

“ _I hope I have some memories of Cadmus,_ ” knowing the guy had been still awake, he had turned onto his back slowly and said in a quiet tone, “ _I hope I have seen their faces and I could remember what they did to me._ ”

“ _Why would you want to remember that,_ ” the guy had asked in reply. “ _They amputated you. It sounds like torture to me. And I could say from experience that getting tortured isn’t a fun thing to remember._ ”

“ _Yeah, but if I know the things like, how the scientist who has done the performance looks like, or what exactly they have done, I would just remember those facts. But now I can’t remember anything, there is this big blank, and my brain would just randomly create some ridiculous scenes to fill it up._ ”

His eyes had drifted to the guy, finding the clear blue eyes easily through the darkness of the room.

“ _The first time I’ve fallen asleep after hearing about what happened, I had this stupid dream_ ,” Roy had spoken in a murmur. “ _I dreamt about the amputation. But I don’t know how the actual bad guys look like, so I didn’t see them. I saw Ollie. He was taking parts off my body, my arms, my legs, one by one, he just kept chopping them off and piled them up on a table. Soon, I was left with nothing, but I was still there, and I can see him used the parts to put together a new me._ ”

“ _The new one has just pointed an arrow at me and called me a smartass hours ago. I think I like the old one better._ ”

The reply had pulled a smile out of him. It had sounded stupid, but it was nice.

“ _Everyone who has heard you talk would’ve said you’re a smartass, smartass,_ ” he had responded with a snort.

Lying comfortably inside the warm darkness, he didn’t continue until seconds later.

“ _I never saw the evil scientists,”_ he had started in a mutter. _“I hope I could just see them. But I only see the people I know._ ”

It was always Ollie he saw, but it wasn’t just him. Sometimes there’re other people too. Sometimes there’re Brave Bow and some of the guys from the tribe. Sometimes, he would even see dad who he hadn’t seen in a long time.

“ _I feel better staying awake,_ ” he had told the big guy. “ _It’s stupid, but I just kind of have this irrational feeling if I fall into sleep, I would just stay sleeping._ ”

“ _But what’s to be scared,_ ” the guy had retorted mildly in a quiet voice. “-- _It’s just like being dead anyway. You close your eyes, and there’s nothing. I can assure you, little Red, there’s nothing about the nothingness that needs to be afraid of._ ”

Shuffled slightly closer to him, the guy had met him face to face. “ _You could sleep for an eternity or have a bad dream every night. But it would only get real scary when you wake up, and you find yourself waking up into a nightmare._ ”

The eyes of the guy had glimmered warmly with humor, “— _Just go to sleep, Roy. When you wake up, I’m still the only nightmare you’re going to get in here._ ”

At the end of that night, he had fallen into sleep. Just like the night before, and the nights that followed after.

He didn’t know why, out of everyone, he had found it comfortable to talk to him. Why it was easy with him but not with Black Canary, or Red Arrow.

Perhaps it was because the guy understood, how it was like to have his life taken, had been put into the oblivion then came back into hell.

And perhaps it was because the guy was actually the one who had talked first.

The guy had answered when he had asked. He had told him things about him and Batman that didn’t seem like he had spoken to a lot of people. And it didn’t sound like he had said anything that might’ve been a twisted truth. Roy could hear the honesty in the guy’s voice, and it wasn’t just the sharp, acid honesty the guy threw around casually.

At that moment in that place, he had felt like there’s level of trust and there’s level of intimacy, and he had felt the connection (“ _—try to think about the **connection** maybe,_ ” during the surgery, the voice he had been grasping on tightly had suggested).

And now? Now he didn’t feel like anything (except maybe a drink).

He didn’t answer Dinah’s question. “If I be naked with you,” he had said instead, “—that would be highly inappropriate.”

The married woman didn’t seem at all impressed by his quip.

Unable to get anything out of him, Black Canary had left the Tower empty-handed.

He didn’t know how he had been doing in his psych eval, but he guessed it hadn’t been too bad, since the matter with LexCorp had been dropped. No one goody red birdy had bothered him about how he was corrupting discipline again after his talk with the lady (“If I want myself to be criticized for my judgment, I would just go back being a sidekick,” he had countered gravely in annoyance, after getting lectured by the team leader and having the error of his action listed out to him).

He didn’t understand why it had to be such a big deal anyway, he was only doing the right thing, by stopping Luthor from using the stuff in that facility for evil.

Granted, it might’ve gone against the idea of stealth mission by blowing things up, and it might’ve been making it harder for them to sneak in to another LexCorp facility again once Luthor had gotten on the alert. But no one was harmed by what he had done saved from Luthor. And since they hadn’t been able to link Luthor to the crime and put the bald guy in jail in the end, he could at least feel better knowing the bald guy still paid.

Things had been fine for about a week since that certain case was over. Then there’s another fiasco which seemed to have really reached the limit of Drake’s toleration. After the incident, the guy didn’t call in Black Canary to play Dr. Phil again, but had just fired Roy the next day.

That damn mission was a disaster, if he might say. They had walked right into a trap, and the team had been brought down one by one.

Seeing what had happened, the dread had rocketed to his spine in an instant. “ ** _No!_** ” He couldn’t recall clearly since everything was kind of a fuzz back then, but he did remember shouting out like a maniac before he had headed for escape. “ ** _No one_** _is going to capture me again— **Never** \--!_”

The chill of fear had erupted into his head and it had burnt his mind. It hadn’t been the first time he had encountered that fear; he could recall feeling it at Gotham. But unlike the last time, he hadn’t fought it down, he had gone along with it, and forced his way out.

Eventually, everyone was safe; but not everyone was happy about what had happened.

“You could’ve killed us! What the hell was that back there!” after gotten back safely to the Tower, one of the guys who had joined the mission had had the audacity to accuse _him_.

So he had created the confusion for him to escape, but no one was injured by that; and if he hadn’t bolted, if he had let himself get _caught_ instead of run off and leant about the layout of that building, he wouldn’t have been able to figure out a way to free the guys, and everyone would still have been captured if not getting killed already.

He had snipped back immediately, pissed off by the fact that not only he didn’t get any appreciation for saving the day by being _smart_ , he was actually being accused for getting _stupid_.

Red Robin had stepped in promptly, calmed down his pal and taken over the questioning himself.

The only thing they had seemed to focus on was how he had run and he had abandoned them, not the fact that he had come back.

He didn’t bother to explain that it had never been his intention to abandon his teammates. It was pointless to explain it to them, since none of the guys seemed they were able to understand.

When he had stood on top the table in the manufacture centre, with the bad guys surrounded them and about to take them somewhere, he had been able to fight down the urge. And he would’ve done it again, would’ve dragged up his feet eventually and walked into that house where Black Mask had been waiting inside.

The big guy hadn’t been threatened by the situation, and if he wasn’t threatened, if he hadn’t lost one slice of his obnoxious confidence, then sure there’s nothing threatening ahead of them.

 _There’s nothing to fear about._ At that point, Roy had reckoned. There’s nothing they couldn’t handle.

“-- _I’m counting on you,_ ” before he could lift his feet from the ground, the big guy had told him.

Instead of walking in, he had bolted away from the house, because it was okay.

 _It’s okay,_ the guy had been saying, without a doubt that Roy would’ve come back. And he had gone back to the house, because _of course_ he would go back to the house.

In the end, he had stomped away from the team because he didn’t need this, didn’t need to be accused and criticized and questioned. And apparently, the team didn’t need him either.

Though he wasn’t happy about getting fired, he was kind of relived that he didn’t need to work with the guys anymore.

It’s not like the guys were awful, though some of them were definitely awfully annoying. All the nagging and lecturing aside, Drake had actually been pretty nice to him; he could say for certain that the guy had been a much nicer Robin than the snippy hatchling he had fought in Gotham once.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t stand those people. He just couldn’t stand the way they reacted around him. The way they would be pissed off by him and the action he had taken that he had deemed to be a _right call_ , or the way they had regarded him carefully in concern.

Whether it was with the guys or with Red Arrow or with Black Canary, there’s a sense of caution in their approach that he could sense it always.

He didn’t enjoy being guarded over, as though he was an injured with a severe wound who needed to be keeping an eye on, or a ticking time bomb that would blow off at any second. (For a moment back there, when he had been alone in his quarter at the Tower, he had recalled what the guy had said months ago when they had first gotten to meet each other, and he had wondered if this was what the guy had been through when he had been working with the team. But he snipped off the thought quickly, because he didn’t want to wonder anything about the guy. If he started wondering anything related to the guy, then he would started wondering a bunch of things that also related to the guy. Then his mind wouldn’t stop wondering and wondering and he would’ve had to run out and find himself some hard stuff just so he could put a stop to it.)

He didn’t know why everyone had to act like that, why everyone had to make it such a big deal.

Why did they have to look at him as though they had no clue of what the heck was _wrong_ with him. So he might’ve acted out of fear, or acted out of anger; but why it was so wrong that he would’ve gotten threatened at times, or he would’ve gotten angry.

Why couldn’t everyone just leave it? (-- _The guy would’ve just left it. He had never acted as though there’s a problem in his action, or in the way he felt, the way he was._ The thought had crossed his mind at some point while he was with the Teen Titans. But it wasn’t true, not anymore. Because he had said _he can’t_ , but the guy didn’t leave it, did he? He had pushed it, and he had pushed it again when he could’ve just let him drink as much as he had wanted as constant as he had wanted, and everything would still be **_fine_**.)

Why it was so unacceptable, he really didn’t know. He didn’t know why it had to be so wrong to everyone that he would feel the way he felt.

He didn’t know why he had to feel the way he felt.

Why couldn’t he just feel the way that seemed right to everyone, and acted the way everyone was expecting him to act? ( _The disappointment sat heavily on his heart once the boss had made the announcement. Once the man had stepped out the house, once he had watched him leave, and he had closed the door quietly and turned inside, the feeling wasn’t gone, but growing heavier and heavier. The silence was swelling, and the mansion was gigantic, it gave the silence enough room to extend, and he had felt small before the tremendous silence. He shouldn’t have gotten disappointed. So the boss had had to cancel their plan and left in a sudden, so he probably wouldn’t be coming back in a few days or even **weeks**. But the man didn’t owe him anything, in fact, he had given him **everything**. The feeling he had was petty. He didn’t know why he had to feel like that. Why he had to get so upset, so disappointed, so betrayed. Why it had to be so bad that he was left alone in this big, empty house. It’s not like he couldn’t handle himself. He wasn’t some poor, needy child. He was **smart** , he was **strong** , he was **independent**. That’s what the boss expected from him. That’s why the boss would leave him alone all the time. Because he had trusted that he could’ve handle it. And he could, so what was it to feel terrible about._ )

Alone, he had left the Tower, and he hadn’t gone back to Star.

It was better for him to stay alone. He reckoned.

 ** _Cold_** _and **alone** , it felt like he would have to spend an eternity in there. _While he was sitting at the table in the apartment room, a piece of the dream he had just had barged in to his blurry head. He blinked it away.

Pulled himself up slowly from the chair, he walked to the bathroom, took a piss then went for the shower. The rental apartment he was currently staying at seemed like it was at least a hundred year old, but despite the tangy smell that surrounded the entire building, the cracks on the walls and the dust on practically every part of every furniture, at least it had got hot water.

The steam filled up the bathroom quickly after he had turned on the water. He stood under the shower for a long time with his eyes shut, waiting for the chill on his skin to be washed away.

His skin was reddened by the intense heat and it was tingling to an extent that was slightly painful; but the cold remained undissolved.

Finished showering, he wandered back to the living room.

His mouth was dry. He slumped back onto the chair at the table and reached out his hand. Seeing the bottle of Bourbon he picked up was empty, he grunted in frustration.

The biker gang he had been going after had been brought down last night; now his schedule was clear, he had nothing to work on at the moment. The sun outside was still up, it was too early for him to dress up and bust some heads.

Lowered the empty bottle onto the table, he kept his hand around it loosely, while considering for a moment should he went to the pub that was only a block away from the apartment, or should he turn on the TV, check the local news and see if there's anything in LA that might require his humble service.

Or maybe he could just go to the pub and watch the TV in there. The pub was a foul little punk nest with an owner who had a formidable attitude; he had been visiting the place quite frequently ever since he had gotten into Los Angeles over a week ago. It’s a good place to gather information, and in spite of the formidable attitude, he kind of liked the way the old grumpy owner had just served him drink without asking for his ID or saying anything to him the first time he had walked into the pub.

“Here’s your bill, punk,” was the only few words the owner had spoken to him for the first time. And the old crank had only said it after Roy had gotten into a fight with a couple of hooligans and broken a table.

“Why do I have to pay, I’m not the one who landed on your table and crashed it,” he had countered in a grumble, but he did take the bill the man had pressed onto the bar table, and paid it along with some more drinks.

Something entered his view while he was pondering his plan for today. In the corner of the apartment, the suitcase, that was the only thing he had brought with him from Gotham, was lying open on the dusty floor. On top of some of the things inside, there was this notebook that he hadn’t been touching for a while.

Staring at it for a couple of seconds, his hand slid off from the bottle. He left the table slowly, sitting down in front of the suitcase and picked up the notebook.

He didn’t know why he had to look for it. He didn’t even know he was looking for it. But the pages turned up by his cybernetic fingers, and there it was, the thing he had envisioned that he had been planning to build it and he had kind of been building it for some times; but unlike the freeze bomb that he had used on one of his mission with the Teen Titans over a month ago (It’s a good mission, not like those ones that had come later. “--Good work,” Red Robin had said, and he had smirked in return, kept his feeling happy about how the thing had worked, and away from the fact he had only got one freeze bomb, and he had already used it, so now he had none), he had never gotten to the finishing part with **_this thing_**.

 _There’s no point in finish it now._ He murmured to himself, but his hands seemed to have their own thoughts.

While the notebook was in his left hand, his right one reached out and dug up the assembled part that had been left deep inside the suitcase.

He hadn’t been working on any gadget lately. He hadn’t been working on any gadget for a while, to be honest. Not since he had started picking up the bottle that he had gotten so attached to these days.

When he had been in that place at Gotham, he had thought he could work on something. Anything. He had some ideas about a small, security robot he had written in his notebook, but he had to admit that it might’ve been a little bit too ambition for him to try building it up, so he had thought he could’ve tried something simpler.

His current situation with the arm had brought back some of the enthusiasm he had lost, in a while, before the incident.

“ _That’s what you have been doing?_ ” He could remember the reaction clearly, and it was definitely not the reaction he had expected. The man had scowled with disapproval once he had heard about the idea of an equipment he had been working on for days.

“ _Have you even been training recently?_ ” the man had questioned.

“ _Of course I have,_ ” he had exclaimed strongly, but the man had just tossed him a distrustful look.

“ _It didn’t seem like it,_ ” the man had said. “ _I just saw you missed a shot in there, kid. You need to keep your head in the game, otherwise you’re going to get hurt._ ”

He had thought he would be happy. He didn’t understand why the boss couldn’t just be happy. He was only trying to be useful, to do something nice. What was so wrong with that?

“ _Stop bothering with your side project and keep focusing on your training. If I want a new equipment, I’ve got a whole lab for that,_ ” the man had spoken. He had said don’t bother, so Roy had stopped.

Ollie had never thought much about it, never had actually believed he could have another talent besides archery.

But since he wasn’t with the boss anymore, he could do as many side projects as he wanted.

He had started with the other thing, once he had finished the freeze bomb months ago. The thing wasn’t exactly hard to build, he had already got all the parts he needed, so he had started it; but what had happened next had put his plan on pause.

He should just forget about it. Just threw it out in the dumpster, or took down the part he had already built and put together something else. Something else he could use it himself.

 _There’s no point in finish it_. Again, he murmured. What was it anyway, he didn’t even know. It kind of felt like some sort of debt, but he didn’t owe anyone anything.

He should’ve just left it, but his hands crawled to the tools.

Alone in the rental apartment, he started finishing his unfinished business; and once he had started working on the equipment, he didn’t stop unless it was for coffee, or food, or bathroom break.

By the time he was done, it was already the next day.

And he stared at the thing that seemed to be exactly how he had envisioned it, and he had no idea what he should do with the dang thing now he had actually made it.

 

***

 

What was he supposed to do next? For a moment, he wondered.

There had been another car outside the building besides the meat truck, which could only be assumed was Darleen’s. Leaving the woman at the truck, he had taken her car and started driving for a moment.

And now, he stopped at an empty road, not so sure where he should be heading.

He could go to the police station and turn himself in. Remembered that he still got a plan for Blackgate, he thought. But if he was to carry on with his plan, he could only do it without Batman to get alert and intervene.

Right now, Grayson might’ve wondered why he would want to get into a conventional prison when basically every scumbags in there was crying for his blood. The guy might have had his suspicion, but Jason didn’t think he had figured out his reason just yet. According to what he had said last time in the nut house, the guy thought it was dangerous for him to hang around in the gen pop, thought he was saving him from getting attacked in jail by keeping him in the looney bin. If only the guy would’ve given him _some_ credit, he would understand that it was never his safety that was in concern.

Eventually, he thought better than presented himself to the police station. If he turned himself in right now when he had already gotten free, Grayson sure would’ve known he was up to something, and the guy would’ve done everything to make his plan impossible.

The prison life had no appeal to him if he didn’t get to finish his plan.

It’s not like orange was his color anyway. He thought, then decided to head back to the base.

It was going to be the last time he was ever getting back to that place. There had got to be a city-wide BOLO on him right now. It didn’t seem to be making his job any easier while every cop in the city was looking for him, and if he was to be honest, the city had started to become too much these days. He could really use a break at the moment, and getting away from this purgatory of a city.

He had never gotten back to the last base he had set up in Gotham since Drake had traced the lead and discovered it a year ago, never had gone back for anything. And although the place he had right now hadn’t been compromised yet, he assumed it would only be a matter of time before it was. There’s nothing important for him in the place anyway, nothing indispensable that couldn’t be replaced.

For the one last time, he walked into the base, ready to pack up his gears along with some stuffs for him to skip town.

The place was in the exact state he had left it. No one seemed to have sneaked in while he had been locked up. Seeing how the place was undisturbed, he thought at first. But then he caught a glimpse of something, and he realized the place had had a visitor.

Standing in the middle of the living space, he stared out blankly with uncertainty, unsure if he was seeing it right.

Seconds later, he edged to the coffee table.

For some reasons, he had this prickling creeping up on the back of his neck; something similar to fear, but it wasn’t fear that had frozen him up.

The thing he had seen stared up at him on the table. It hadn’t been here when he had left the base couple of weeks ago to chase a psycho and ended up spending weeks in Arkham.

He wondered how long it had been here. How long since it had been left in this place. But these questions weren’t important, what important was **_why_**. Why the hell it was here.

Bringing up the equipment that clearly was meant for him, he sat at the table slowly.

What he was holding in his hands felt as solid as the one he had, but it was much lighter. The metal was smooth to the touch, and it was cold. So cold he could feel his fingers bitten.

Its color was identical to the one he had been using; but unlike the old one, this one was smaller, with greater facial details.

It wasn’t just one big red bucket; this one here actually seemed more like a _tactical helmet_.

There’re a few hidden buttons in the ear area, which he assumed were linked to some built-in functions.

So _this_ was what the kid had been making. A faint, laugh-like sound slipped out his throat once he had realized.

After the event with Black Mask, they had taken some time off to recover from their injuries. Decided he could use the time for some handwork, the kid had bought some stuffs when they had gone out one day.

He remembered wondering what Roy was going to do with all those remained parts once he had finished remodeling the freeze gun.

He had asked about it, and the reply he had received was evasive.

Was it because it was meant to be a surprise? Or had the kid just gotten embarrassed by his own gesture? Maybe it was the former, maybe the latter; maybe the answer was a bit of both, and he still wouldn’t know.

The equipment he held seemed to be such mystery, he looked at it and the questions just kept popping up into his head.

He could understand why it would be a _helmet_ , since the kid had never had any love toward his Red Hood gear. He always said it was goofy, and it was. It’s not like Jason didn’t _know_ that, he was just never bothered because it wasn’t something that needed to be bothered with.

It was fine that the original Red Hood look from the original Red Hood was kind of goofy. It’s fine that he had been dressing up as one of the Batman villains. The suit was just a suit, and the helmet was just a piece of equipment. It was nothing important.

Remembered how little love the kid had showed to the Red Hood helmet, he could easily understand why Roy would’ve decided to make him a new one, what he really couldn’t _at all_ understand, was why he had had to come back and left him this.

It hadn’t been finished before the kid had gone back to Star. He could say for sure, because the kid hadn’t really been working on anything since that night at the pier.

Why would he feel like he should finish it, after everything, after he had pushed him (across and away). Why would Roy still feel like he should do anything for **_him_**.

His fingers wandering along the outline of the equipment, touching it with great caution; despite how it seemed to be solid enough to survive a headshot, he had this small, irrational feeling if he put too much pressure on it, it might break under his touch.

 _Just like how it was already._ A cold, remote voice spoke clearly in his head.

He couldn’t help himself but recalled the moment, when he had watched the arm aiming at the criminal, and he had been certain that Roy would take the shot. But, “-- _I can’t,_ ” the kid had dropped his arm, and it should’ve been enough.

The teen had made his choice, and it should’ve been enough.

Except it wasn’t.

He wondered why he couldn’t just leave it there. Roy had made his decision. So what if he would choose to take the unnecessary risks, what if he would rather follow the vain rules instead of cast it away and get things done. The kid had made the choice and the choice was his. So why couldn’t he just accept that. Why did he have to push?

Why it was so important to him if Roy fired a fatal shot. It wasn’t **_his_** life, all in all. Why did he have to take it so damn _personal_.

He should’ve just left it then. Just left it and waited. And sometime someday, there might come an incident that would be enough inspiration to Roy, and by then, he would’ve taken the shot without anyone pushing his back. He would’ve understood, that even though it might not be _nice_ , it might not be _good_ , but it would be for the ** _best_**.

He would’ve understood, just like Jason had understood.

 _But that’s the part where everything went wrong, isn’t it?_ Eyes regarding the equipment in his hands, he murmured without voice.

He had thought they were alike. He had crossed the line himself, had been walking down the other side of the line for quite some time, and he was _unscratched_. None of the dead had yanked at his feet and cried for his attention, not the ones he had killed anyway. He had thought the kid would be the same, but he wasn’t. He was never the same as him.

If they were the same, then it should be nothing, if not liberating.

There's this urge in the kid’s eyes, he had seen it the first time they had met, and seen it again back when he had beaten the information out of Sonny. He had recognized it and he had felt related to it, because he also had the same urge in him. The immerse heat that had been burning strong in his mind; the urge that Bruce had tried hard to get it under control long ago.

“ _That’s enough,_ ” Batman had called out in a grave voice, and only then, he had stopped punching the criminal. He had let go of the bad guy who had already lost his conscious, and when he had turned around, he had found his mentor looking at him grimly, like he was assessing a critical situation.

Bruce had never been able to understand that urge, that white-hot impulse. He had tried to suppress it; again and again, he had said _no_ , _stand down_ , _Jason_ , _that’s enough_ , _Jason_ , _that’s not how we do things_.

But why did the man get to decide, how they did things, when was enough? He could never understand.

Why did the man get to decide how hard he hit the bad guys, how hard he _wanted_ to, to make them suffer, as the way he had always suffered. Why did Bruce get to decide who himself was, how he did things, but _he_ didn’t get to decide? ( _What’s wrong if he wanted to hurt them—if he **liked** hurting them—they deserved it, didn’t they? Why it was so **unacceptable** that he wanted to make them feel as bad as **he** had felt--as he still couldn't stop feeling at the present time. Why couldn’t Bruce just **understand**. Why couldn’t he just **accept**. Why every time he tried to help, he only got scolded or punished. Why the man had to act like what he did was all wrong, like all he **was** was all wrong. Why did he seem like he just really needed to **change** him? Into something he wasn't? Something he could never be?_ )

He had thought he had seen the same urge in Roy. But now he knew he had been mistaken.

“ _What are you trying to do,_ ” the kid had asked at the last time, “ _Are you trying to brainwash me into you?_ ”

It had never been his intention, he had just tried to help. (“ _You did what you think is helpful,_ ” Grayson had stated, and it had felt like he had just punched him in the face. He would much rather he just punched him in the face.)

He didn’t regret his action that night. Not about leaving the gun for Spencer to grab, not about pushing the kid to fire that shot. The kid had needed a little help, so he had helped him. And because of that, if Roy ever had to kill to survive, he would survive.

 _There’s nothing to regret of. It was a good decision._ He said to the helmet that was sitting on his laps. The thing looked up at him blankly. It was a good decision, but it was only to him, not to Roy.

And why should _he_ get to decide anyway.

He recalled what Grayson had said to him, and although he didn’t like anything the guy had said, he had to admit that the guy might’ve been on to something. Maybe he really was as every bit as pompous as those old men, thinking he knew better than everyone else, thinking he had the correct answer and that he could just make the decision for the others, to make the others better as though what they were wasn’t anything good enough.

“ _Is it because there’s something **wrong** with me?_ ” The question rang in his ears, and it made him sick to his stomach. The kid should never have asked such question, shouldn’t have had such doubt plaguing his mind.

It wasn’t the kid’s wrong, wasn’t the kid’s mistake.

After he had lost the fight to Grayson while wearing that Bat armor a year ago, he had thought he would not lose again, because he would stop making mistakes.

By the time he resurfaced in Gotham, he would only be smarter and stronger. He had thought back then, as he had gotten rid of that armor and put on the red hood once again. He would be doing it right this time and there would be no mistake. He had believed it without a doubt; yet here he was, still managed to make one.

Sitting alone at the table, he wondered how many mistakes he had made besides that big, lousy one. There had got to be _some_ error in his way, he could try and argue, but there’s proof to that. And even though he could beat a lots of things, he couldn’t beat proof.

If there’s no error--if there’s no wrong in his doing whatsoever—then how come he was still defeated by Batman, how come there had been a grieving, furious woman broken him out from the transport that was supposed to take him to where he had planned to be. How come he was sitting alone in here and not Blackgate, holding a piece of equipment that somehow felt like a murder weapon that had his finger prints all over it and would be more than enough to incriminate him in court?

How come there would be a teenager out there, a perfectly innocent one, seemingly had been lost to everyone.

A strand of red hair fell over his face as he hunched forward. “ _Do you really think there isn’t a cost in what you’ve been doing?_ ” Grayson had said, like he ever needed a reminder.

He knew clearly there’s going to be costs, and he had accepted that. Accepted that if he ever was caught, the judge would find him guilty and he would be sentenced to prison. He accepted that someday, the bullet out there that had got his name on it would’ve found him, and by then, he would sleep and he would stop waking up.

But this? This was not what he had bargained for.

His hair had gotten quite long in the past month, and the red strand in front of his eyes was painfully distracting. He stared at it deadly, felt like this bright, familiar color he was carrying right now was his real punishment, not Arkham.

Pried his gaze away from that strand of red hair, he dropped his eyes again, staring down at the brand new helmet he was holding.

He didn’t know why it was here. Why it would be left for him. Why it would be his. And he had absolutely no clue of what he should do with it.

He had decided he was done with this place. Once he packed up, he wasn’t going to come back.

Maybe he should just leave the thing in here with the mistakes and the memories. Or maybe he could pack it up, bear it along with him, keeping it in a well hidden place and never try it on nor ever use it once.

It didn’t feel like he should use it. What right did he have to use it like it was his? Like the gift was for him to have?

Why should he be gifted when someone who didn’t deserve to suffer suffered from his decision. From his wrong doing.

He really hoped he knew what he should do with the thing.

“What am I supposed to do with you,” he asked in a small voice, in hope he could fine the answer.

The helmet didn’t give him an answer.

 

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

Took down the last thug, he turned around quickly; but the big animal had already gotten behind him.

A large, strong hand caught him by his neck and raised him up from the ground. The hold around his neck was tightening, squeezing the life out of him in a rapid speed. If his neck didn’t get crushed by the iron grip first, he sure would’ve been choked to death.

One of his hands flew up and tried to pry the fingers off his neck, while the mechanical one drooping at the side of his body. He pulled his arm backward and kept his aim low.

The big guy roared in pain once the laser penetrated his bared foot; the hold around Roy’s neck loosened and he was tossed out. Quickly, he drew up his arms as his body was hurtling through the air, preventing himself from getting a head injury.

A grunt was knocked out his throat as his shoulder crashed hard into the leg of a dining table. The pain surged through the side of his body; his head, although uninjured, was dizzy due to the oxygen deprivation.

Pushing down the dizziness, he gathered himself immediately, getting back on his feet and whisked round, arm stretching out in preparation of firing.

There’s blood trickling from the foot of the big fellow, and Roy could see the shot he had taken had peeled off a piece of that big green toe.

For a short moment, he wondered did it count for animal cruelty.

The wound seemed nasty, he should’ve felt bad about it, but frankly, he just kind of felt sorry that the laser hadn’t cut off that big damn toe because that sure would’ve made it harder for the guy to surge up and try to murder him again.

Even without all the animal taboos he had learnt from the tribe, he was never comfortable with the thought of hurting an animal. Though he never had a pet once or had any animal pal when he was little, he did like the animal, even those wild, dangerous ones. But this guy here was about as likable as the panther guy who had worked for Sionis.

The pain had only been able to stop the big guy for a few seconds, then he was charging again. This animal here wasn’t anything as fast as a panther, but he definitely was fast for someone his size.

Tuning the built-in weapon back to a less lethal intensity, Roy fired continuously without a break.

The small diner was lightened up by the beams like a rave party. The big guy kept an arm in front of his face to avoid getting a headshot, and using his other hand to reach down and pick up one of his crewmen from the floor.

Grabbing the injured guy by his nape, he broke off the shooting by throwing his own people at Roy.

Having no intention to catch a thug who was taller and heavier than him, Roy dashed aside immediately. Poor guy crashed onto the ground and lost his conscious, possibly getting more banged up by his own boss than by Roy who had beaten him up several minutes ago.

Not that it didn’t serve him right.

“Here’s your lesson of working for someone who is genetically cold-blooded,” he gloated at the guy who certainly couldn’t hear him.

Keeping one arm in front of his face, the cold-blooded animal lunged toward Roy. He fired while hurling away; a couple of laser beam punched the guy in his bare chest, it had got to hurt, but it didn’t seem to be enough to shut the animal down.

A coarse hand caught Roy’s foot at the last second before he could take cover behind a table, yanking him down on the floor. He tried to kick out his other leg, but it was caught under the horrid weight of a six hundred pounds horrendous body. Roy thought it might be possible that he heard a cracking noise. He hoped it was only coming from his imagination and not from his leg.

He raised his arm the moment the big guy raised his, protecting his face from getting smashed by the upcoming blow. The punch hammered into his metal arm, created a shock of impact that was vibrating to his shoulder. The vibration was far from pleasuring, but it wasn’t anything painful and nothing in his arm felt like it might be broken.

Evil or not, Luthor--or the people who worked for him--did know how to make a good product; it would have to take a lot more than a big, fat crocodile to crack his arm.

Not feeling too good having his fist thudded hard onto a piece of metal, Killer Croc let out a pained growl. Seeing the guy was momentary stunned by the collision, Roy was about to take the chance and knocked him away, but the thick-skinned animal recovered faster than Roy would like him to.

Before he could do anything, the second blow crashed into his stomach, punched the breath out of his lung. Roy coughed out a faint, agonized sound, vaguely thankful of the fact that he had been on a liquor diet, he didn’t eat much before this.

His stomach wrung and there’s a tinge of bile rose up to the back of his throat. Involuntarily, the arm he had been using to shield his face slipped off a little. Through his blurry vision, he could see the strong, murderous arm was swung up again, clearly intended to smash his head in.

Swallowed down the bile and the pain, Roy bit on his teeth, balled up his body quickly and flung himself up at Croc as hard as he could. The force knocked the guy off a few inches. Roy angled his arm without a second of hesitation, shoving the pulser right under the hard jaw and fired.

The force wasn’t enough to open a hole or burst a head off, but it was enough to leave a smoking brunt mark on the guy’s jaw.

Bawled in great pain, the big animal flung his arm blindly, slapped Roy hard in his face before stumbled off.

A bit of blood dripping from the corner of Roy’s mouth, his cheek was hot, his stomach was still crunching which was still making him kind of want to throw up, and he felt like he had just gone through a car crash or some sort of nature disaster.

He could only be cool and show much patience after he had gotten a good night's sleep which he hadn’t had for a while, so he had little patience for this; and now his patience had completely run out and enough was _enough_.

A surge of fury pulsing through his body; Roy moved up fluidly as the guy hunched over with one of his hands covering his wounded jaw, driving the metal fist right into Croc’s stomach the hardest he could.

Though the blow knocked the breath out of the guy and made him stumbled, Croc merely fell back for a few seconds before he straightened his back and ready to charge again.

The laser pulser, which was all powered up and pointing directly at him, put the ferocious animal to a halt.

“Stand down,” Roy strictly advised. The mouth of his weapon was glowing with a strong, deadly light; the kind of glare that was entirely different than the stun mode.

Croc regarded the pulser with distaste.

“Don’t bluff if you can’t deliver, cub,” he scoffed nonchalantly, but the sense of caution in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

The guy must be aware of the damage Roy could do with the cybernetic arm. Since his toe was still bleeding, it had left a trail of blood on the floor while Croc had been dragging his feet around.

“You want to see me deliver?” retorted coldly, Roy aimed down and fired at that injured toe of his. The beam went across the edge of his bleeding toe, scraped the wounded area and left a dent on the floor.

The guy roared in a fury, stretching out his neck with his jaw broken wide. Roy lifted the pulser back to his face, stopping him from doing anything stupid.

“That’s how I deliver,” he stated in a grim voice. “And it’s not even the worst I can do.”

With his eyes glaring at Roy, the big, wild animal inhaled deeply, in an attempt to calm himself.

“So that’s how you’re gonna play, cub?” seconds later, Croc started in a grunt. “You gonna blow my head off with that shinny toy of yours?”

“Not if you be nice and go with the police quietly,” Roy said. “And don’t call me cub. It’s Arsenal.”

Croc snorted. “That ain’t gonna happen… _cub_ ,” the guy responded with a sneer, and the way he stressed the name made it clear to Roy that he’s not just a felon, but also a jackass.

“I ain’t going to be put into a cage,” Croc exclaimed strongly. “I’d rather go back rotting in the _sewers_.”

Roy was confused. “I thought you like living in the sewers.”

“You nuts?” Croc tossed him a contemptuous look. “No one _likes_ living in the sewers. It stinks. The only thing good about it, is no one bother you in there because no one likes to be in there.”

The way he said it with his deep voice left a weird feeling in Roy’s guts. Keeping his arm steady, he regarded the big, wild animal for a moment.

“Is that why you left Gotham?” he asked, “You think by coming to a different city, you won’t have to rot in the sewers anymore?”

Croc didn’t give him a direct answer. “You people just wouldn’t give me a break,” in return, he grouched darkly with hatred.

“You wanna take me down, then you better take me down for good,” he told Roy, “Because I ain’t going to jail. I’ll rip you apart the first chance I got, and I’ll rip every pig apart before they can take me.”

Roy didn’t doubt if the animal would do that if he did find the chance. It was almost certain that if he turned his head around for a second, or dropped his arm for a second, then the guy would pounce and either bite his head off or rip his limbs off his body.

The big guy was ferocious. Though Roy didn’t know much about Killer Croc, he did under the impression that old crocodile here was one of the most vicious criminals in Gotham. Perhaps not one of the most psychotic, but he definitely could earn some bonus points for tearing people apart and possibly ate them.

Roy wasn’t quite sure if it’s true that Croc was a cannibal, or was it just one of the Gotham horror tales.

There’re a lot of horror stuffs he had read when he had checked out those felons files Jason had stored in the computer; and according to the Waylon Jones file, the guy was marked as “highly dangerous” and the response strategy to him was “shoot on sight”.

At the moment, Roy’s body was aching everywhere, and he could feel the heat of anger was still hovering in the back of his head. He wondered would it really be so bad if he just fired the shot that he already had it ready and ended this wild, dangerous animal once and for all.

He hadn’t used any lethal force since he had left Gotham that night, but it’s not like he had vowed to never kill again, it just hadn’t been required.

His feeling for vigilante killing was still pretty much conflicted right now; on the one hand, he could see there truly was some good in it, and there really were times when it was strictly necessary. But on the other hand…it just didn’t feel good.

The act of killing itself wasn’t hard though, not after the first time. “-- _It’d only get easier_ ,” the guy had told him, and he guessed Jason was right about that, considered he didn’t really need any push in the back the second time. He just did it, just pointed and shot and mission accomplished.

It wasn’t really _that_ hard, bringing the death to someone. It was actually kind of easy, especially when he was carrying a lethal weapon with him twenty-four seven.

It wasn’t hard when he had done it the second time, when he had done it the third time. It was just a part of the job. He had come to reckon. And all those guys were nothing more than just a bunch of criminals, who were only good at doing bad things to the innocent people.

All of them were the same, and the situations were pretty much the same too. Sometimes they were armed, sometimes they had already been disarmed (Roy liked it better when they had guns in their hands, but apparently, he could still carry on with it if they hadn’t), though the faces were entirely different, when they died, they all died the same, and they all just kind of looked like Spencer to him.

“ _Please--_ ” Roy hoped he could just forget that face along with the voice. “-- _I have a **family** , I have a **baby** coming._ ”

Part of him really hoped the guy hadn’t said that, really hoped he could just die a bad guy like all the other bad guys, instead of someone that might’ve possibly become a _father_ soon.

The guy might’ve deserved to die, but what wrong had his child done to deserve living without their parent? ( _All of a sudden, the suffocating heat was pulling away. A drift of cold air stung his face and woke him up to the reality. He cracked his eyes open, confused to find that he was flying. Glanced up in puzzlement, he realized he wasn’t flying after all. Brave Bow was carrying him in his arms. He turned his eyes around with difficulty. Before his eyes, the fire at home was still burning. The house was getting further and further away from him. “ **No** ,” in his head, he was crying out; but in reality, he made no sound. The smoke had paralyzed his body and muted his voice. “-- **No** , no put me down. He’s still in there— **my dad** is still in there--don’t just **leave** him, I can’t just leave him—no, no please no, no put me down, no no no no no— **put me down**!—put me down **right now** \--! No, no please, please don’t take me away from him--” None of his words had come to Brave Bow’s ears; the man didn’t turn back to the collapsing house but brought him straight to the hospital._)

Standing with his arm held up, Roy didn’t do or say anything. The criminal with the scaly skin shot him an impatient look.

“Are you going to get on with it or what?” Croc pressed, like he would really rather Roy just blow his head off already.

“You say you can deliver, cub, so hurry up and deliver. I ain’t got all day.”

Roy didn’t enjoy the pressure. “Don’t freaking rush me, you giant lizard,” he glared at the guy crossly, “You want to _die_? That’s what you want?”

The look the guy returned him was cold and sardonic.

“You have no clue,” Croc rumbled, mouth stretched slowly into a big, ugly snarl. “You know how many times I’ve wrestled against the Bat? How many times my life was ruined because of him? Because of you people? I don’t get to _live_ in Gotham unless I was hiding in the damn sewers. And now when I actually built some life in here, you people still wouldn’t leave me alone.”

He snorted with some strong resentment, “You’ve already trashed my place and ruined my life, cub. If none of you would ever let me live, then why don’t you just be a man and finish the job. That might actually save us both a lot of troubles.”

“That’s…that’s heartbreaking,” Roy remarked in a murmur, wasn’t sure if this guy was being serious.

“So you think _you're_ the victim here. You're blaming the people for not letting you live, like it’s the people’s fault that you’re a habitual criminal and your life is crappy,” he pointed out dubiously. “Are you going to tell me it’s the people who have forced you to do the robberies you have been doing with your crew here? And it’s the people who have made you take over this nice little place by crashed in to this diner weeks ago and sent its rightful owner to the hospital? And I guess I should just assume the people have also forced you to demand protection money from your neighbors too?”

As far as he knew, those were what Croc had been doing in LA these days. The local robberies had captured Roy’s attention a week ago, he had traced the lead to the perps, discovered their hideout and the fact that Killer Croc was the one who ran the robbery crew.

He actually had been surprised to find out that Croc was the one he had been after. He didn’t come to see or hear anything of Gotham ever since he had been told to _get out_. It had been nearly two months by now, and the only thing he had done that had the city involved was the day trip he had taken over a week ago.

It was a quick trip; since he had been drinking the whole time during the ride, he didn’t actually come to notice anything of the city, nor spending much times questioning about what reason exactly had brought him onto that meaningless little trip.

Once he had gotten off the ride, he had gone straight to the place. The operating base was empty when he had gotten there, and he had found it looking colder than he had remembered.

Probably it was because no one was home at the moment. He had thought, but he didn’t let himself wonder where the guy had been, since it was none of his business.

It’s actually better that the guy hadn’t been home. It would’ve only gotten unnecessarily awkward if they had run into each other.

Roy didn’t know what reaction Jason would have when he had seen the thing, and he wasn’t inclined to find out. The guy could just toss it into the garbage for all he cared. He had already built the thing, and he had tried it on himself after he had finished it, and evidently, the thing just didn’t get along with the rest of his costume. Since the helmet had no use to him, he had figured he might as well just give it out like it had been meant to be, and maybe by doing that, it would’ve given him some sort of closure (which didn’t).

The coffee table had seemed as clean as the first time Roy had gotten into that place, he had stood at its side and stared at it for a moment, unsurprised to find there was zero trace of the past months.

Whether he was there or not, it made no difference.

Leaving the helmet on the coffee table, he had left right away, despite there had been a moment when a wave of exhaustion washed over him, and he had just had this strong, irrational urge to drop himself into the couch nearby and sleep in there for hours.

He had thought being hundreds miles away from Gotham would mean he wouldn’t have to have anything to do with that city and its people, but he stood corrected.

Apparently, he and at least one Batman villain had both realized that Gotham just wasn’t for them after all, and thought it might be nice to stay at some warm, sunny, flourishing places like LA for a change.

After snooping around a little, Roy had learnt that apart from the robberies, Croc and his crew had been badgering some stores around the block, as in his first step of claiming the entire neighborhood as his turf.

Where Killer Croc had been using as his habitat now, was actually an old Italian diner that was owned by some innocent Italian. When Roy had busted in to the closed diner, the thugs in Croc’s crew had been sitting at a table and counting the ill-gotten money, while Croc himself had been lounging at the corner and munching the food which assumingly was belonged to the diner that he held absolutely no ownership over.

Croc could try and cry him a river, but no part of his doing could help portraying him as the wronged party to Roy.

"You want to play the victim of society, you might want to consider stop acting like a perpetrator first.”

In response, Croc puffed out a snort. “Take a look at me,” the criminal said. “Does it _look_ like anything but a perpetrator to you? What do you expect me to do, cub? Find a job at Walmart?”

“Have you even _tried_ getting yourself an interview?” retorted thoughtlessly, he then regarded the big, ferocious animal for a couple of seconds.

“You can’t blame people for not letting you live, Jones,” Roy started in an even tone. “You don't get to live in peace because you're a criminal and you need to be brought down to justice. If you really want your life to be turned around, then you need to start cleaning up your act.”

Untouched by his advice, Croc puffed out another snort.

“You all said it like it’s a choice,” the guy sneered, with his cold, hard eyes staring at Roy deadly, “--but damn Bat doesn’t leave me no choice, damn cops don’t ever leave me no choice. You think people come running to me in peace and offering me choices my whole life? You think that’s what they like to do?” He huffed out a acid laughter. “No, cub, they like to scream at my face, like to put a muzzle on me and shackled my hands before shoving me into a stinking cage. So what’s wrong if I like to make them scream, what’s wrong if I prey on them to provide myself? I’ve got to live _somehow_. Don’t blame a man for trying to live.”

“I’m really confused.” With a scowl on his face, Roy asked, “So do you want to live? Or do you just want me to shoot you in the head.”

“There’s no living in cages,” Croc replied crisply. “If you ain’t planning on leave me alone and let me live my damn life, then yeah, just shoot me in the head and get this over with.”

Pausing for a second, the guy then added in a deep, thoughtful voice, “At the end of the day, we're all just meat anyway. We're all gonna die.”

Roy shook his head in some meek amazement. “You really sober me up with your insight,” he remarked dryly, couldn’t find it in himself to feel sorry for the guy.

The old crocodile here was a hardened criminal, a violent murderer who would rip people apart without hesitation, who didn't seem he would ever show mercy to his victims, hadn't got no remorse for his crimes.

But he did feel a bit sad for some of the things the guy said, feeling sad for the fact that the guy was just born like this, that he had no choice over his own appearance, no control of how he looked like, or how the people reacted to his presence.

It wasn’t the guy’s choice to be born with the green, ugly skin, and perhaps, it wasn’t his choice to be born with the vicious nature either.

Roy couldn’t help but wonder how much control Croc actually had over the way he acted, over his animal instinct, his greediness, his brutality, and all the other bad, ugly things within his own soul that had habituated him to the life of crimes.

He wondered how much control he himself had had when the fear of being captured risen into his head and his body screamed for him to run? How much control he had had when he had felt like a small, lonely child, even though he should be better than that, even though he had been _taught_ better than that.

How much control he had had when he should feel good serving justice, when he should just tough it up, and put himself together and get over it, but he didn’t, because it just didn’t _feel_ good?

If only he had the conviction Jason had. His eyes trailed off from Croc to his own lifted arm, staring at it bleakly.

Despite what he had said that night, from where he saw it, the guy did handle it well. Though Roy had made it sound like he didn’t believe it, but mostly, he had just said it as a strike back. Maybe the guy really had gotten over everything. Maybe the things that had woken him up at night were all that remained from the past. Maybe the fact that the guy never got bothered it's because he's too tough to be bothered, maybe he _was_ mentally impenetrable.

Unlike him, Jason was confident of his own action, of who he was, of what he wanted, of how he carried out the mission. Roy envied that.

He regarded Croc closely; at the moment, the big guy seemed pretty much calm standing before the pulser, not exactly people-eating-monster like, but more like a bad guy with a face of a monster.

Since he and Killer Croc hadn’t crossed path before, he didn’t know much about the guy save for his long list of crimes.

It was obvious that the guy hadn't been living the easiest life, but he was a bad guy who was convicted of multiple felonies. The fact that he might’ve had it tough did not grant him the right to do the things he had done. Just because the guy was born like a monster or have been treated like a monster, didn’t mean he _had to_ spend his whole life acting like one.

 _It’s no one’s fault that he just couldn’t act better._ Roy muttered to himself.

The world wouldn’t mourn for the death of Waylon Jones; it would only become a better place without a bad guy like him.

“I guess I _could_ kill you,” returning his gaze to Croc, Roy murmured. In return, the guy flashed his teeth at him, which he had no idea it was meant to be a grin or a snarl.

“A real hero,” Croc remarked, in a strange mixture of utter distain and some small satisfaction.

Although Roy didn’t like to kill, he also didn’t think it would be really that bad if he just finished off this big, bad animal.

It was all for the sake of the innocent. And if Roy was in his hand, the guy definitely would’ve killed him.

If he finished him off, it would only be the right thing to do.

Roy took the aim.

“You little **_shit_** _\--!_ ”

The big guy roared in rage as the laser burnt his injured toe. The intense heat stopped the bleeding that had been running for minutes, and also sent Croc into a killer state of mind.

With that huge, monstrous mouth of his cracked open, the animal urged forward with a vengeance, flashing a mouthful of lethal teeth at Roy.

Before the big guy could bite his head off with those gruesome teeth, Roy displaced the pulser promptly and fired a different shot. The fast drying polymer spurted from the emitter to Croc’s legs, solidified his lower body in mere seconds.

Unable to lift his feet from the ground, Croc let out a low, frustrated growl, shot out his arms and grasping viciously at Roy’s direction.

Stepped backward into a safe distance, Roy watched him with some vindictive amusement.

To say Croc was upset was understating it.

“Just when I think you might actually have the _guts_ ,” the guy growled. “But you ain’t got no guts. You’re just another fucking coward--another _fucking_ waste of my _fucking_ time--!”

“Save your F word for the jail, potty mouth,” Roy snorted coldly. “You do crimes, so you get your ass kicked and sent to prison. That’s the story of your life. If you’ve gotten sick of it, then clean up your damn act or go kill yourself. There’re plenty of ways to die, I’m just not going to help you.”

While he was sending out an emergency call to the LAPD, Croc was trying to murder him with his eyes.

“All you so called heroes,” after Roy was finished, the big guy started drearily. “--Always come busting in and trash the party. Always telling me how I should live my damn life when you have no idea how my life is. All you fucking hypocrites with your noses in the air—you all think you’re better than me, but you ain’t no better.”

It was funny he would say that, because Roy really didn’t feel like he was anything better.

If he was anything better, he probably wouldn’t be here alone. He would’ve been still in the good guy’s team, which he wasn’t anymore, because he had gotten fired. If he was anything better, then sure he would’ve realized what the better move was, then he would’ve done better than blown up a corporate facility or run off to save himself regardless of the others; but he didn’t, and clearly, that was the reason he had gotten fired.

At this point, he just really didn’t think he could actually get to call himself a _good_ person, didn’t even know what should be called “good” really.

The anger in his head when he had thought about everything, about the broken kids from the prostitution ring, about how little he could do to help get their lives back on track, about how there’re countless of scumbags like Marc Spencer out there, giving birth to another batch of victims everyday--when he had thought about the victims’ pain, thought about their loses, about his own loses--it wasn’t a _good_ kind of feeling, neither was the fear that had lashed against him when he had seen Spencer picked up Jason’s gun.

Jason might’ve been the one who had put him into that position, might’ve had put the weapon in there, but Roy was sure it wasn’t the guy who had put the desperation in him.

The acute desperation of doing something, something that needed to be _done_ , to defuse the danger, permanently; to take out a threat so the world they lived would’ve become a little bit better.

The killing wasn’t all bad. Jason had made a strong argument of it, and Roy had believed him, might be still believing what the guy had said had a point.

But if it really was the good thing, then how come he didn’t feel any good doing it? And if what he and Jason had been doing wasn’t such a good thing, then how could he still get himself to do it, the second time? The third time? It had gotten him wondered.

He didn’t think he could ever find some answer in the bottle. That’s not why he had been drinking. He was only drinking because he didn’t want to question, about the morality of the method, about some potential unborn child who might’ve had to live without a father, about if that was the fact, then what kind of person that made him.

It was never smart to ask too many questions. He had learnt that long ago.

Dad had always gotten sad whenever he had asked the question of a woman whose face he had never seen, not even in picture. The air had always gotten a little weird when he had questioned the Navajo about some of the puzzling traditions. And then there was Ollie (“-- _Just do as I say, Speedy,_ ” the man had replied dismissively, after hearing the questions Roy had had to his plan).

Instead of questioning, he had drank and he had kept quiet, didn’t ask Jason anything, didn’t want to show his doubts, didn’t want to seem like he just wasn't strong enough for it, didn't want to see the disappointment in that pair of blue eyes.

He had thought he had handled it fine, but the guy had noticed and he had pushed him. And the worst part about everything since the first time he had killed someone, wasn’t even the fact that he had vaguely aware what the action might’ve made of him, not even the nagging voice hovering in the back of his head, judging and doubting constantly, in a volume that was indistinctive but hard to ignore.

The moment he had been told to leave—the moment when he had realized he was alone in the thought of that operating base he had been living for months might actually be **_his place_**? That was the worst part. Not everything else.

What did it say about him.

“You ain’t no better than me,” standing stuck to the ground, Croc was saying, “You ain’t even got the balls to finish what you’ve started. You think you’re sparing my life here? Stuff it, kid, you ain’t sparing me shit.”

“Why the heck would I want to spare you anything?” Roy snorted. “You earned your punishment, and I don’t want you to get away from it. You deserve to spend the rest of your life being locked up, and stuck with a stinking rotten egg that is yourself.”

Vexed by this jackass and the pain he had put to his body and the giant ball of mess that was apparently his own life, Roy spitted harshly, “Don’t say all those craps to me like you get it. You don’t _get it_ , Croc. I didn’t let you live because I think I’m a hero or I’m better. I didn’t want to kill you because if I did, _I’m_ the one who have to live with _your_ death, while you would be just enjoying a _good night's sleep_.”

His heart was thudding hard, he wasn’t sure if it’s because he was angry, or because of the drinks he had had this morning.

“If **_I_ ** don’t get to have some good night's sleep, you don’t get to either,” Roy declared in a growl.

Croc regarded him with a tint of cautiousness.

“You’re a freak, cub, has anyone told you that?” the guy remarked dryly. Roy ignored him and turned around.

All the criminals here were practically unconscious except Croc. The police wouldn’t be arriving in another few minutes. Feeling he could really use a drink, Roy went to the table that Croc’s crew had been sitting at before he had busted in. Dropped his battled body onto a chair, he picked up a half-empty bottle from the table and found himself a glass.

He didn’t take another glance at the big guy until he chugged down two fingers of cheap Whiskey.

Realized Killer Croc was staring at him, he frowned and stopped on his track of pouring himself another.

“What?” Roy asked in some meek annoyance, “You want one?"

To his surprise, Croc seemed to be actually considering.

“Huh, why the hell not,” the big guy grumbled.

Picking up another glass from the table, Roy poured one for the guy, and brought the drink to him slowly.

Croc didn’t try to tear off his arm once he reached out, just took the drink from his hand and chugged it.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, some roles are reversed because the situation is different.  
> I hope it's fine Croc is pretty much a gangster in here. I just like it better seeing him being more of a human than an simple animal. And what happened in this chpt is actually a beginning of an unlikely friendship.
> 
> The reunion is up next, because this part just looks like it wants to be on its own so I didn't march on and write a second part as I've intended to.
> 
> Comments and Kudos are highly appreciated!


	21. Chapter 21

He couldn’t say he was surprised to find himself standing outside a pub.

It was rather predictable, came to think about it. And although it probably wasn’t such a great thing to find someone in a pub at this time of day, as far as result went, it could be far worse.

The tracking device could’ve led him to somewhere more inauspicious; a slaughterhouse that was used by the mob to take care certain things, a dock where a body could be easily disposed, an alley in the darkest part in the city where dozens of homeless people had withered to death, a hospital, a morgue, or basically any sort of crime scene.

He didn’t want to presume, but the possibilities did come to his mind while he was on the road, and none of the possible results he had thought of was any good. Normally, he wouldn’t call himself a pessimist; but he was realistic, and bad stuffs did often happen in the world.

He guessed he should count himself lucky, that the signal was transmitting from a pub in LA.

The pub was old and small, standing drearily in the light of the afternoon sun, looking as shady as the neighborhood it was located.

Turning off the tracking device, he shoved his phone into the pocket of his brown jacket, and pulled open the door of the pub.

The place was as empty as to be expected at two in the afternoon. There’re only a few customers inside; the scruffy guy in the corner was hanging over a table, having zero awareness of the world, while two roguish looking men who were sitting next to the door turned their eyes on Jason as he walked in, giving him a glance over before went back drinking their beers.

Sparing no attention to those two, he took a look around, finding a lean, familiar figure in a red hoodie sitting at the bar with his face turned up to the TV. He hadn’t realized how tense he had been the entire time until the sight of the redhead brought him a sense of relief.

For a moment, he didn’t take a step forward but just stayed on the spot. It was good that the kid clearly wasn’t in any danger; but the way he was sitting there with a glass close to his hand, appeared to be completely blended in to this shady little gin joint just kind of made his stomach heavy.

Lifted his feet from the floor, he edged to the bar.

Unaware of his presence, the kid kept his eyes on the TV nearby, watching the news channel idly while reaching out for the drink.

Jason took a seat next to him and started, “Some would say it might be a little bit too early for that.”

The redhead froze up at the sound of his voice.

Seconds later, when Roy turned his head around, the regret Jason had for his own word almost came in an instant. Maybe there really were some strong reasons for people to start drinking at an early hour. Right now, he kind of had an intense urge to order himself a double shot of Whiskey, but after what he had said in a way of beginning, it probably wouldn’t be appropriate.

A slice of surprise rose to Roy’s eyes once he landed his gaze on Jason. Creased his brows together, he regarded Jason with uncertainty.

“What happened to your hair,” he enquired, voice fused with some strong puzzlement and a hint of repulse.

It wasn’t exactly what Jason had prepared himself for; but considered how questionable his hair appeared at the moment, he guessed it was completely logical that it would be Roy's first reaction to him.

The redhead was scowling. “Why is your hair red?”

“Because Batman,” he replied dryly. “He dyed my hair after he caught me.”

The confusion in the kid’s face was increased instead of lessened by his response. He added in a way of explaining, “--Batman is a dick. And he might have some fetish for red hair.”

It didn’t seem to help clearing anything up to Roy. He stared at Jason for a couple of seconds, looking like he was going to ask about what exactly the hell had happened. But he dropped down his gaze eventually, and went back picking up his drink.

The lack of curiosity shouldn’t have felt disappointed to him, since it was entirely unlikely that they would just start chatting and ask each other about their days as though nothing had happened.

Pushing down the desire for a drink, he drew out the pack of smoke from his coat pocket and lighted a cigarette instead, didn’t start the conversation again until taken a drag.

“What happened to your face,” tossing a look at the swelling on Roy’s cheek, he returned the question.

“Killer Croc,” the teen replied simply.

Before Jason could fully process the fact that Roy had had a run with _Killer Croc_ , Roy asked, “How did you find me.”

He shrugged, feeling a little reluctant to reveal the secret. “Because of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, I just happen to walk into this one by total coincidence?”

The look Roy gave him was unimpressed. He wasn’t sure if it’s because humor really wasn’t the answer to everything, or the kid just simply didn’t find the reference funny.

“I tracked you,” he answered, while pondering mindlessly if Roy ever saw the movie. “--With the homing device.”

“What homing device,” Roy enquired in alarm.

“The one in the masking device you've implanted in your arm?” he tried to play innocent.

In order to hide the look of his arm, Roy had built up a masking device a couple of months ago, right before that certain night.

Lucius Fox should get a thank you for his contribution to the device, actually. Though Roy had an impressive talent for technology and engineering, but he had been away from the world for a decade, and he was pretty much self-educated. The half-baked theory he had had wasn’t even enough for him to start, let alone finish the invention in a few days; it would have taken Roy some serious time to develop the tech, if Jason hadn’t remembered someone who might help with their technical problem and suggested to give the Fox’s house a visit.

Lucky for them, Lucius was currently in the process of developing some EMP mask that could alter the appearance of its user. The work Lucius had stored inside his computer was nearly finished, and the stolen data was enough to help Roy building up the device that he had needed to pose himself as the perfect bait.

Before they had left the base to carry out the sting operation that night, Roy had taken out the device and done some final adjustment. And let’s just say, the redhead hadn’t always been keeping an eye on the device.

So, Grayson’s guess was right, he did have a tracker on the kid.

But it’s not like he was paranoid or that he had some excessive urge to keep tabs on everything. He was just being careful. Incase anything went wrong and they’re separated (which, though not in the way he would’ve imagined, did seemed to be exactly how it turned out).

Roy looked at him grimly. “You’ve planted a tracker in the device, which I’ve implanted, _in_ my _arm_.” 

“When you say it like that, it sounds kind of bad,” remarked in a mild tone, he looked away from the cigarette he was holding. “—It does come in handy though.”

He had only gotten to hold gaze with the pair of green eyes for a brief moment until he was avoided.

He wondered would dispose the micro tracker be the first thing the kid did when he got back to wherever he was staying in LA these days, which also led him to wonder what kind of place Roy was staying these days.

Seeing the weariness in the kid’s eyes, it probably wasn’t the best place for sleep. However it was, Jason hoped it at least had got hot water.

The winter was here already; though the weather in Los Angeles could hardly be as bad as Gotham, but the temperature here still wasn’t quite recommended for any sane person to take a cold shower, especially those ones who hated getting cold.

Returning his gaze to the cigarette, he took another long, throat-burning drag.

The masking device was on, keeping an appearance over the mechanical arm. In the corner of his eyes, he saw the seemingly normal hand hanging upon the glass, rubbing the glass with its fingers abstractedly. He could tell by the movement that the kid was restless and his head was wheeling.

Roy should really work on his tell. It’s hard not to notice if there’s anything on his mind. He thought, and it brought back the question of how much effort he himself had put in there to ignore something that would have to take a pair of blind eyes to lose sight of.

How much effort he had put in there to keep his eyes away from the truth? To tell himself that they’re fine, that the kid was fine, when he could see clearly that his partner had been poisoned, by none other than his own toxin.

Looking back now, Jason realized the last couple of weeks they had been together were a stretch. The moment he had pushed Roy to fire the shot, the moment the redhead had turned away from his touch, it was over. He should’ve known.

His place was never with Jason. If only Jason could’ve seen it sooner, could’ve faced the fact sooner, instead of denied it in the same fashion he had once denied the truth of himself. If he wasn’t too blind, too arrogant, and too selfish to do that, then the kid wouldn’t have ended up finding a place in the gin joint. He still would’ve been where he belonged; a place that was nice, and clean, and good.

He was absorbed in the motion of the hand, until Roy broke the enchantment by picking up the glass and cleared the liquor. “What do you want,” the teen asked, after ordered himself another shot.

Poured another one for Roy, the old man behind the bar regarded Jason with a long face and asked him what he wanted. Jason mentally struggled a little, then decided a club soda would do.

Leaving the club soda to him, the man took the cash and headed into a distance.

Waited till the man was gone, Jason answered, “Want to say thank you, mostly. I found the helmet.” He took a look at the teen who was staring out blankly in front of himself. “It’s nice,” he commented sincerely, “and it definitely looks better than the old one.”

At that, Roy let out a vague, sarcastic hum.

“You tried it?” he asked with his mouth hovering upon the lifted glass.

Jason wasn’t sure if there was a correct answer for that. “No,” he decided to be honest, like he always had been with the kid. “Just don’t feel like I should.”

Seeing the bafflement in the kid’s eyes, Jason brought out a casual explanation, “Don’t want to damage it or something.”

“What do you mean _damage_ it?” instinctively, Roy scrunched his brows together, looking slightly exasperated. “What do you think it made of? Paper? It can hold against an _AP bullet._ ”

He should’ve known the kid would take it personal. “That’s not what I mean,” he cleared it up promptly. “I’m not saying it wouldn’t hold.”

Not especially seemed to be convinced by it, the kid scowled at him a second longer, before turning his eyes away.

It wasn’t the problem of the helmet. He wanted to say, but Roy beat him to it, “It’s fine if you don’t want it. Just leave it in the dumpster, or donate it to some poor crime fighting people out there who are low on head protection.”

Jason had no idea how he was supposed to do that, when he couldn’t even stomach the thought of leaving the brand new equipment at the abandoned place to rot.

He couldn’t even keep it hidden in the traveling bag that he had brought out of Gotham with him. The equipment had been brought out into sight once he had settled. It had been calling out to him, demanding for his sole attention; despite how he would like to keep his distance, he couldn’t ignore the voice. So he had brought it out, sat with it in silence, until he just couldn’t sit with the way it had been staring at him anymore.

With a note of irony in his voice, he responded, “It doesn’t seem like it is built for the dumpster or the donation box. Unless that’s how you call me.” The faint snort he got in return wasn’t entirely unamused; he counted it as a win.

After smoking quietly for a moment, he snuffed out the cigarette and asked, “Why did you make it, Roy.”

The answer didn’t come right away. Roy cleared the drink and signaled the old man for another. It was the third drink Jason had seen him having so far, and he only had gotten here for a little while. He wondered how much alcohol the kid had already had today, how much alcohol he had daily.

“Just kind of figure I should pay you back,” after the drink was served, Roy started dispassionately. “--For the prosthetic surgery. I would’ve paid you in cash, but I never see the bill so I don’t know how much I owe you exactly. And I’ve already spent most of the cash. So that’s that.”

The voice was convincingly plain. It was possible that was what the kid would’ve said if he actually gave the gift to Jason in person.

The tactical helmet was definitely too thoughtful and too delicately handcrafted to be _just_ a payment, but Jason knew better than to call him out.

“I appreciate it, but you shouldn’t have,” he replied simply.

Not that the kid had owed him anything, but if he really wanted to pay him back, Jason would much rather to be paid in cash. At least money was something he would know what he was supposed to do with, and it could hardly feel like such a customized penance.

Since neither he nor Roy wanted to say anything more about the helmet, he naturally changed the subject.

“A big bird told me you’ve fallen out with the kids. I suppose you’re going solo now?” he stated while regarding Roy, whose eyes were attached tightly to the drink. “How are you holding up.”

“I took down Killer Croc, how do you think I’m holding up,” snorted dryly in response, the kid then paused for a moment, looking like he was battling something in his head. “I didn’t kill him,” couple of seconds later, he started airily.

The pair of green eyes turned up in slow, looking at Jason with a cloud of doubt. “I had that big lizard, I had the shot ready. But I didn’t take it.”

It was almost laughable that he had to be putting so much effort in there to keep himself from recoiling; especially considered that he hadn’t even recoiled when Batman caught him stealing his tires.

“You don’t need to,” Jason replied as clear as he could manage. “You don’t need to do anything you don’t feel like it.”

“But I did feel like it. It’s only for the best, right?” Roy retorted in a murmur, and he had no idea how he should response to that.

It was for the best, sure; but it just wasn’t the best thing for _everyone_.

Though he didn’t see there’s anything wrong if the kid had finished off someone like Killer Croc, it would only be better if he could leave the murdering for someone else who was more suitable for that kind of job.

People who had too much heart just wasn’t cut out for that sort of life style; Jason had already perceived the clear knowledge of this since the last time he and Roy had been sharing the same space.

The glass was lifted from the table before he could figure out a correct response. Thoughtlessly, his mouth opened and the word ran out, “You should really cut down the drinks.”

Roy flicked him a glance. “What, you think I couldn’t handle it?”

“I think a lot of people think they can handle a lot of things before they are killed,” he replied nonchalantly. “I think is possible that one day, you’ll have a glass too much, and you’ll find yourself bleeding to death in a fight because you’ve slipped up and you made a mistake.”

“I’m not an idiot,” with a rebellious edge in his voice, the redhead countered, “I can handle it.”

He hummed in thought. “Isn’t that what you’ve been thinking when you took up that investigation alone?” The rhetorical question brought up a spark of irritation to the kid’s eyes, which was totally foreseeable.

Unconcerned by the angry look Roy was sending him, Jason returned him an easy smirk.

“You think I would’ve gone to the Middle East or taken on the Joker by myself if I didn’t think I can handle any of those?” he retorted in some mild sarcasm. “--It happens to the best of us. Just because you think you have it all under control, doesn’t mean things couldn’t be getting out of your control. You don’t need to be exceptionally stupid to make mistakes, little Red, but you’ll have to be real stupid to live repeating it.”

At this point, he figured it was quite possible that the kid just wouldn’t find much worth in his word; he looked at Roy squarely, in hope the redhead would at least still find his words worth listening.

Before his eyes, the distinct spark in the pair of green ones dimmed down, and shifted into something unclear.

Making no response to what Jason said, the kid drew his gaze away.

Instead of getting tossed up, the drink was sitting down on the edge of the bar table. But the redhead didn’t lose his hold on it, so it could hardly be called a victory.

Jason regarded him for a long moment.

“The most fucked-up part about the whole death thing,” without much consideration, he started out of the blue. “—it’s not that I was beaten to a pulp by a psychopath, but I was beaten to a pulp without even putting up a proper fight.”

The words came out easily, far more easier than he would’ve ever imagined saying this to anyone, especially himself.

Confused by his sudden confession, the kid looked up into his eyes.

With his gaze locking with Roy’s, he went on in a quiet tone, “The truth is, I didn’t die fighting the good fight that day. I didn’t die _fighting_ , period. I died defenseless, which was a joke, because I shouldn’t be _defenseless_. Not anymore. I shouldn’t be tied up and getting beaten and beaten like I was nothing. I should’ve done _something_ , should’ve at least put up a fight. But I didn’t get to fight the Joker and that’s how I died. Nothing. Not a fighter, not a hero, not anything important but another victim. And when I came back, guess what I found out?”

The corner of his lips turned up flavorlessly. He told the kid, “I found out my death means totally nothing to the world, and I just wasn’t significant enough that I couldn’t be replaced.”

The kid was regarding him the same way he had regarded him the last time Jason had spoken to him about something personal, listening quietly with devoted attention.

It wasn’t difficult to say this sort thing when he wasn’t on guard. He never seemed to be on guard around the kid. He wondered if it’s because Roy was a _kid_ , or because of the fact that he had already seen Roy screamed during the arm surgery--already seen the teenager struggled through every second of the agony while clutching tightly on the hand he himself had reached out—if he had gotten to see that up close, had gotten to share that, then there’s hardly anything he couldn’t dare sharing with the redhead.

And also, it was rather impossible to be guarding against someone who clearly had his trust in him. He supposed.

There’re a few seconds of silence once he was finished with the confession that was actually kind of therapeutic. It was nice, to have a chance to speak it out loud. Too bad it probably was the last time he would ever get to do something like that.

The kid parted his lips slowly and uttered in a small voice, “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because that’s going to be you if you’re not being careful with the booze,” Jason replied matter-of-factly. “If you keep letting it poisoning you, one day, you’re going to be poisoned to death. Then some tears will be shed, people will give you a nice funeral and mourn for you for a while, but eventually, the world will move on, and your death will be for nothing, as though your entire existence is just nothing.”

Feeling it was too important to be heard by the outside world, he leaned closer to the redhead, and murmured directly into his ear, “--We both know you’re better than that.”

Before he could pull back, Roy turned toward him slightly. His lips were brushed innocently by the cheekbone, and the coldness of that small piece of skin left him a faint burn.

Drawing back to his seat, he reached out for the drink Roy had on his side of the table.

The club soda Jason himself had ordered was sitting untouched the entire time. Picked up Roy’s drink and finished it, he placed the club soda to Roy in exchange.

The kid didn’t make any objection about it, but just watched his hand with some conflicting thoughts.

Thinking this was pretty much it, Jason stepped away from his seat. But he couldn’t leave without clearing up one last thing.

“If our…time together ever meant anything at all to you,” he said to Roy, “--then dig it out of your head and leave it at where the old Speedy died. Don’t let it drag you down and ruin you. There’s nothing wrong with you, Roy. You’re a good kid, no need to doubt about that. Those deaths are never your bad, they're mine. It’s a mistake I put those blood on you, and you shouldn’t be paying for my mistake.”

He was about to turn away and move out; a sudden, unexpected question put him on pause.

“How’d you do it.”

He looked over his shoulder confusedly. Roy asked without meeting his eyes, “Just march on and don’t let anything get into your head, how’d you do it? How to be mentally impenetrable.”

That was an interesting question.

“Why are you asking me,” he retorted with some amused irony. Seeing this probably was the last time they would ever see each other, he decided to just be honest with it.

“I let you in, didn’t I?” he uttered while turning away, smartly missed whatever look the teen might be wearing on his face.

Leaving it as his final word, Jason headed out of the pub, and hoping Roy would do the same thing soon in his own time.

 

 

 

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes The Question

Almost a week since the investigation in LA had started; finally, there was some breakthrough. Although the files inside the corporate building weren’t quite the nail in the coffin, they did help linking the suspects to the case.

Copied the files into the thumb drive, she left the building the same way she had gotten in and went back into her car unseen.

It had been a long hard day, and she had only had a hot dog for dinner. Knowing neither the suspects nor the case would be going anywhere, she figured it was fine to take a rest now and leave any more footwork for tomorrow.

The distance between here and her hotel was over twenty-minutes long. Thinking she could use some music on the road, she turned on the car radio before starting the engine.

Instead of some nice, relaxing music, the radio was broadcasting news. Wanting to take a break from the world, she was about to change the channel, but a familiar name came in and her hand froze up in front of the radio.

It was speaking of a trial in Gotham that had begun a few days ago. She sank her back into the driver seat slowly.

It wasn’t the first time she heard of the news; it was the biggest case the prosecution office had in years, and considered how influence the defendant had been once in the law department and what horrible crimes he had committed all these years, the press had been given it an immense publicity. The news was spreading all over the country soon as the DA had made the public statement, and there were discussions everywhere; even though she had already left home for work when things had started, she couldn’t escape all the chatters.

It wasn’t the first time the news had come to her notice, but for the first time, she actually sat there, and listened to how determined the prosecutor was to win the case against _Harvey Dent_ now the man had been arrested several days ago for murdering a couple of judges in Gotham.

Minutes later, the radio reporter finished reporting the trial of Two-Face and started talking about some other local news.

She might’ve heard something about Killer Croc during one of the local reports, which should be curious; but with everything in her mind, she just simply couldn’t bring herself to pay any attention to it.

All those things she couldn’t help but recalled were raising million questions to her head. There’s no way she could find any answer by sitting here alone. She knew clearly, and the knowledge of it sucked.

Looking through the windshield, there’s a pub at the end of the street. The light that was flowing out its widow was captivating. Unwittingly, she was staring out at the place.

Her mouth was dry all of a sudden; and for a moment, she felt like she was just too tired to have all these thoughts and questions weighting upon her.

The car was quiet, and the voices in her head were far too loud for her to think clear. She peeled off the mask on her face thoughtlessly, wanted to walk toward the warm, captivating light that promised to drown away all of her troubles.

Before she could put her thought into action, her eyes turned up. In the rear view mirror, the Latin woman was watching her. They stared at each other for a couple of seconds.

“What’s your problem,” asked the woman in the mirror sternly.

Instead of leaving her car or heading back to the hotel, she drove to the place she had seen while she had been doing the footwork around this city.

Fifteen minutes later, she parked her car on the unfamiliar street and walked into the place.

Fortunately, the weekly meeting was about to start as she had gotten there. She took a seat next to a red-haired male who appeared to be too young to be an adult.

Once the first person had finished sharing his experience to the group, and the chairperson asked who would like to be the next one to share, Renee raised her hand.

 

***

 

After getting denied by the computer for what felt like the thousandth time, he could no longer suppress the desire of lifting up his foot and stomping hard into the steel stand of the machine.

The machine, of course, was unstirred by the furious kick.

To his frustration, the timer in the middle of the digital screen continued its countdown, informing him coldly that there’re only five minutes left before the whole facility blew up.

Next to where he was standing, the leader of the terrorist group was lying dead in front of the computer.

At the moment, he just wasn’t sure what he regretted more; the fact that he had put a bullet in the guy when he probably was the only one who could withdraw the self-destruct command, or the fact that he didn’t make a clear enough shot to kill him on spot before the terrorist had sealed both of them inside the control room and activated the self-destruct sequence.

The siren was raving through the entire facility, yelling at everyone who wasn’t dead at the moment to flee. The sound was maddeningly sharp, and the warning light that was flashing upon him literally made him see red.

His cape was torn during his previous fight against the terrorists. Feeling heated up under the maddening siren and the red light, he tore the cape off his shoulders, thudding down onto the floor with his back against the stand.

Though he would _love_ to do something, it didn’t seem there’s anything he could do to stop the countdown.

The knowledge he had learnt from Bruce was enough for him to do some simple hacking, but not enough to turn him into a computer genius. The language that the central computer spoke of was beyond him; nothing he had done to the damn thing so far was able to grant him the access to the system. The sealed door across him was the sole exit of the room, which could only be opened from the outside or by the computer that he couldn’t get any access into.

Even the door did open, now it was too late for him to escape.

He had learned the entire layout before he had come into this place, and even if he could leave the room this instance and take the shortest route he could think of, it would still take him at least fifteen minutes to get clear.

Died in another explosion, that’s just what he needed. And this time, he still couldn’t get to die in a fight.

How different had he actually become since the last time he died? He couldn’t help but wondered.

It didn’t seem he had gotten more control of the situation than he did the last time, didn’t seem he had gotten more power over anything. Sure he had gotten to waste a lot of bad guys this time, but in the end, he was still unable to save himself from dying easily, still couldn’t do jack shit but let himself be buried.

What would be remembered of him if the world would ever remember him at all? The question came to his head uninvited.

Slowly, he took off the helmet he was wearing, dropping it onto his lap.

 _No one would even remember if you’re ever here._ That ugly, goofy thing was telling him.

He was born nothing, so he died nothing. Maybe it’s finally the time he embraced the truth.

Eyes turning to the dead terrorist beside him, he tried to find the difference. But what’s the difference in there? He couldn’t see. Before this day was over, they would be both dead, both going to be buried deep under the wreckage, both would be having their bodies blown up into bits and the fact of it would be making zero influence to the world.

At least this time, he would finally be free of the jokes. His body would be destroyed by the grand explosion, and not even the Lazarus Pit would be able to put back the pieces together. He thought to himself cruelly.

Returning his eyes to the Red Hood helmet, he regarded the thing for a couple of seconds.

Though the thing wore no expression, he could still see it laughing; mocking him about how helpless he was, how powerless he was, how small and insignificant of him.

Body ignited by a surge of anger, he snatched up the hood and swung it across the room. The instant the thing crashed against the wall, he pulled out his gun, shooting it with a vengeance and accuracy.

The thing was cracked by the storming bullets. He tossed the gun at the damn thing once he had emptied the magazine, knocking its shitty face in a clank.

“Now who’s laughing,” hissed airily at the broken hood, he then leaned back against the steel stand.

Only a few weeks after he had gotten out of Gotham (again), and he was going to die (again).

At this point, it just really didn’t appear to him that there’s anything he could do to make a difference of his life.

Whatever he did, he was never going to be free of this hell, never going to be free of all of this. All of these craps started from that small apartment at Park Row. All of these craps in his so called life that just made him want to slam his fists into something continuously until his knuckles bled.

He stared at the old hood from a distance, and he suddenly wondered was it really a good thing that he had left the new one at his current hideout.

Just like before, he was going to die; and this time when he died, he would be buried without anyone knowing. Seeing this was just the story of his life, the thought of what was going to happen to him in minutes didn’t especially make him sad; but the thought of what would happen to the new equipment after he died stung his heart.

The thing he had left at the hideout would be forgotten along with him. No one knew where he had put it, so no one would find it and pick it up and finally put it into some good use.

The equipment was delicately made. It was a shame it would be left rotting at that shabby hideout without showing its great potential once.

Maybe he really should’ve just donated it to some other people out there. The tactical helmet didn’t deserve to be left rotting; if he had given it away, it would probably be the best for the thing.

He was pondering about the fate of an equipment that had been wasted on him, while waiting for the end. Without warning, the sealed door of the control room slid open.

His eyes turned to the door abruptly.

A young, unexpected figure was standing at the door, drowning inside the sea of red warning light.

The astonishment Jason had for the image merely existed for a split second before it dissolved.

He should’ve known this day would come. He thought to himself.

Seeing the warning light flashing over the red hair and the red costume, Jason realized the craziness of Gotham was finally catching up on him.

 

***

 

“Hi, my name is Renee, and I’m an alcoholic,” she started in the regular way everyone would’ve started when speaking up at an AA meeting.

It was weird. She didn’t think she had ever called herself that or even thought of herself as that during her drinking days. But she guessed it was…okay; since she was indeed an alcoholic.

The group returned the greeting in unison.

“It’s my first time doing this,” her lips twitched up coyly. “I uh…haven’t been drinking for a while, actually. Haven’t felt like having a drink for a while. But tonight I was sitting alone at my car and I heard something. Some things about someone I have a history with. And I saw there’s this pub on the street, and I just really, _really_ feel like I could use the hard stuff.”

One of the women in the group regarded her with a bit of sympathy. “Things with the ex?”

“No,” she puffed out a laugh. “No, it’s just…someone. A man who has made quite an impact on my life—my job, to be specific, which was basically my entire life.”

The relationship between her and Harvey (if it could be called a relationship at all) was hard to explain. It wasn’t anything romantic, not on her part anyway; but there’s something, a sort of obsession, not just Harvey to her but also her to Harvey.

Sometimes, when they were facing each other, she could feel the bond, almost as intense and as painful as the painful, intense relationship she had had with Kate once, though not in the same way.

“I was a cop once,” she begun her story, “and being a cop was everything in my life. It’s all I have, all I was. So when I lost the job, I lost everything. I lost my career, my purpose, my income, myself. And that’s when I started drinking. Just drinking day and night and night and day, until I lost my girlfriend too.”

The memory flashed across her eyes. Started from the moment she had walked out the GCPD, it had been the darkest days in her life. Not even the time when her home city had been cut off by the world after the earthquake could have seemed more futureless to her.

Back when Gotham had been declared as the No Man's Land, she still had been a police, but after the badge was gone, she hadn’t been anything but a drunk.

“I should’ve cleaned myself up and found myself a new job, like my girlfriend has kept telling me. But I just couldn’t get myself to do that. Couldn’t get myself to do anything but drinking. It pushed her away. And when she finally had enough of my crap and walked out, I didn’t even bother to stop her, and she was the only person I had by my side at that point.”

The thought of the woman brought up an ache in Renee’s heart. The hurt in her eyes when Daria had watched her drank, the frustration and the disappointment that had risen to her face when she had talked to her but she had refused to listen. She didn’t often think of that now she had put her life back together, but she could remember it well.

Since she had never hurt Kate any worse than Kate had hurt her, she had never felt guilty for the redhead. But Daria was different. She was the one she had truly let down.

While she was taking a moment to subside the pain and the guilt, the group waited for her with patience.

Seconds later, she picked up her track, “I’m better now, I have a new job and I have myself back. But that doesn’t erase the fact that how big of a mess I was.”

Taking a glance at the woman who had chimed in before, she flicked her a small smile. “--The man I mentioned isn’t my ex, but he is definitely something. He is part of the reason I wasn’t a police anymore, and when I heard the things about him, I just couldn’t stop thinking about everything. Every single thing in my life that has gone wrong. Every single thing that has happened between me and him, what he has put me through, what he has done to crumple my career, my life, my faith. And I just…I wasn’t angry with him,” she shook her head in some small astonishment, as if she was somewhat bemused by her own mixed feeling for Two-Face.

“I’m never angry with him,” she spoke with honestly, “I’m just…sad, mostly. Sad for the fact he has done all the terrible things, that he is still doing all the terrible things when he could’ve been…something more. Something great. I’m not saying he isn’t a _bad_ man, he is, but that’s not _all_ he is. There was a time when he was good. He was a good, decent person with dreams and faith and a sense of justice. And every once in a while, I feel like I could still see that part of him. The good face, right next to the bad, ugly one. And I just wanted to do _something_ , to help him be that good person again, to help him take back the control of himself that he seems to have lost completely.”

As the speech went, she found it surprisingly comforting, sitting among the group and sharing the things she had never shared with anyone, not even her friends.

Everyone here was all stranger to her, so there would be no consequences if she showed them her problems, her weaknesses. And the fact that these people were here tonight suggested they all had some sort of problems in their lives.

It was nice to know that she wasn’t the only person in the world who had stuff to deal with. She wondered why she hadn’t done this before. Why the fact that she wasn’t alone with her problem had seemed to be constantly lost to her.

“In a way, I think he and I are just the same. I think he is just the same as about everyone,” she said quietly. “When I was drinking, I could see this woman in the mirror, and she’s like the ugliest woman I’ve ever seen--with her bloodshot eyes, her scruffy hair, her hollow face. She’s a mess, and she’s me. And every time I looked at her, I hated her. I wanted to yell at her, telling her to get lost. But I didn’t know how to get rid of her, how to put her back into the person she once was before she was like this. I didn’t really want to, to be honest. There’s something safe about being her. She was the person who had nothing, no career, no purpose, no hope, nothing left that could be stripped away. I didn’t know how to fight her, didn’t even feel like fighting her. So I let her take me. I have lost the control of myself just like he has lost his. And now I realized that’s just it, we all have that part of ourselves we can hardly control, we all have that thing—that ugly face—that is so powerful and consuming it could swallow us all.”

Eyes turning up from her own hands, she looked at the group of stranger, “--That’s what happened to him. That’s what happened to all of us. We all have that bad side of ourselves that would bring us nothing but destruction. And we couldn’t just get rid of it, no matter how much we want to, no matter how much it shames us and we hate it. I have seen good people do bad things for too many times to still believe people could be all good. But we don’t need to be _all_ good. We don’t get to decide what the world has thrown at us, what we’ll become when we lost our jobs, our lives, our good faces. How we’ll feel and how we’ll response when everything has gone to hell, we don’t get to decide any of that. We don’t get to choose if we would be defeated, or disfigured, or broken. But we do get to choose what we’re going to do after that. We do get to choose if we’ll want to be better.”

Her mouth was dry, but it was only because she had been saying a lot. The desire for a drink had drifted away, and the only inch she had right now was to share her thoughts with everyone here who was listening.

“I haven’t seen or heard of that man for a long time since I’ve resigned from the force. And when I heard the news about him, I had all these memories—all these questions flowing into my head, and I just wanted to see him _so bad_ , wanted to meet him face to face and have a talk with him,” she said. “I wanted to do something about him. But I couldn’t do nothing, because I’m hundreds miles away from where he is, and I still have works in here, so it’s not like I can just drop everything and go see him. And it feels terrible, doing nothing. For a moment, I guess it just really wears me off. And I looked at the pub and I wanted to have one, just for tonight. But if I have one, I would have another, and another. And before I realize, I could be puking in the lady’s room, and when I look up into the mirror, the woman with the lost face would be staring back at me, and I just don’t want to deal with her anymore.”

She smiled at the group, “I don’t know even if I could drive away from that pub, would I have the strength to get through the night being alone, or would I just walk into another closest pub I could find. That’s why I’m here.”

“And we’re happy to have you here with us,” the chairperson returned her smile, making some comment about her smart decision before giving the floor to someone else.

Almost an hour later, the session was finished and the group broke apart. There’s some snacks and beverage on the table near the exit. She walked to the table. A voice rose from her side as she was picking up an orange juice.

“Nice speech back there.”

She turned to the unfamiliar voice, surprised to find it was the red-haired teenager who had been sitting next to her. “Thanks,” she regarded the boy with curiosity, couldn’t recall he had said anything during the session.

The boy was about the same height as her, with the type of lean athletic figure and a handsome face that promised to draw a lot of attention from the girls at his school, _if_ he was at school at all.

It didn’t seem the redhead was here with anyone. Her police instinct made her question about what had happened to this young person that would’ve brought him into an AA meeting alone.

“You’re in the program?” she asked while sipping her beverage.

“No,” the kid replied, “It’s my first time here.”

“How long have you been drinking?”

“Not long. Just a couple of months,” he shrugged. “I don’t think it’s that big of a deal, but someone said I should cut down the drinks, before it kills me. It sounds a bit exaggerated. But I don’t know. I’m not really in the best of shape, if I’m to be honest. And it’s kind of convincing coming from him.”

“A person of experience, I suppose.”

“Yeah, not that he drank, but he does have some experience of stuff,” the teen said with a distant look in his eyes. Renee flashed him a smile.

“I think it’s good that you would listen to the warning.” She said in a half-joking tone, “My response to the people who have tried to talk me out of drinking was just ‘screw them’, basically.”

The teen looked amused.

“Guess your ex-girlfriend doesn’t like to be screwed,” he remarked, didn’t seem to have noticed anything until he saw Renee raising an eyebrow at him. “--That didn’t come out right,” hand scratching the back of his head in embarrassment, he glanced at her apologetically.

“It’s fine,” Renee reassured him with a smirk. “How have you been doing so far.”

Picking up a beverage from the table, the teen shrugged at the question.

“It shouldn’t be hard,” he said in retrun. “—Just don’t drink, it should’ve been easy.”

“But it’s not that easy, isn’t it.”

“No,” he admitted. “I thought I could just get through the day without having a drink, and then I thought it wouldn’t hurt if I just have one. So I had one. And like you said, there’s one and there’s another. I keep telling myself that it was the last time, that the next day would be different. But the next day is just the same.”

“The most lousiest thing about having an addiction,” she remarked in a knowing tone, “--you never have the full knowledge of how bad you have it until you started to quit.”

Agreed in a faint snort, the teen stared down at the beverage he was holding.

“I hope that stupid guy would just tell me how the hell I’m supposed to stop drinking and put my life together, instead of just came telling me how horrible it’ll be if I don’t,” he said with his lips lifted up sourly. “But I guess this is just the type of stuff that I need to figure out myself. Can’t just rely on people to give me all the answers.”

“That’s why you're here?” Renee regarded him kindly, “To find some clues to the answer?”

“Just saw the place on the street, and figured it wouldn’t be bad to check this out,” the teen replied nonchalantly.

Hesitated for a few seconds, he lifted his gaze to her, “The things you’ve said—about being better. Do you think everyone can do it? To stop being the person they don’t like to be?”

 _That’s a good question_. The word rose to her head, sounding pleased and somewhat excited.

She couldn’t tell if it was the sound of her own thought or if it was the sound of _Vic_. Helena always said she might’ve taken too much after the original Question. If she had heard that at the beginning of her relationship with Vic, she probably would’ve given the stinkiest of all stink eyes to anyone who said that; but now, she just took that as a compliment.

She couldn’t hope for a better friend than Vic Sage. If the man hadn’t shed the light through her window, she still would’ve been a train wreck these days.

“I think it depends,” she responded to the teen. Though she would love to believe that everybody had the power to be better, even Harvey, she had already spent too much time at the force--at Gotham--to be that naïve.

“I can’t really say that everyone could change for the better, but I also hate to think that some people are just hopeless,” she said. “I mean, I thought I was a lost cause, but it turns out, there’s still some hope in me. I think we all could be better, if that’s what we choose to be. If we are willing to fight the battle against our worst self, then there’s a good chance we can win.”

“But what if some of us just isn’t strong enough for that?” the teen enquired in a bleak voice. “What if some of us just…isn’t strong enough.”

“Then I guess that’s when the people come in,” she replied with a shrug. “People can’t win our battles for us, but that doesn’t mean we’re not allowed to use their help. I don’t think I could ever quit drinking and smoking if it wasn’t for my friend. Everyone can use someone at their sides, I suppose. There’s always something that’s just too much for us to handle alone, not even for the world strongest. Why else do you think the superheroes out there would form themselves a team.”

There’s no response coming from the younger male. Renee regarded him closely, while he was staring at the beverage in his hand.

The fact that he was alone in the meeting returned to her mind. She wondered did the kid have anyone, at home, specifically.

Seeing he was in an AA meeting, it was less than likely that the teen was coming from a warm, loving family. The way he dressed didn’t give her much tells; his appearance was normal, didn’t look starved or any messier than any other teenage boy. Though he didn’t seem like the homeless kids she had often seen on the streets back when she had been walking the beat, there’s this look in his eyes--this way he carried himself, this way he talked--they all reminded her of a runaway.

Where were his parents? She wondered. Where was everyone?

What was he thinking after hearing the word she had just said? Was there anyone he could think of who might provide him the help that he could use for his battle? A family? A friend? Maybe even a lover? The guy he had mentioned, what about him? He had given the teen a fair warning, would he stick by his side and offer him help if the teen asked?

A part of her really wanted to investigate, but she didn’t want to scare off the teen.

Instead of bombarding him with all of her questions, Renee pondered for a moment, then started thoughtfully, “You know what you should do if you want to find the answer you’re looking for?” The teen turned his gaze to her. It was clear that the reason he had walked up to her was that he felt related to some of the things she had said during the group session, and he was hoping to seek some advice from her. She gave him the best one she had ever been provided. “--If you want to find some answers, you need to really start asking yourself the questions.”

“Okay,” the teen replied with uncertainty. “But what kind of questions.”

“That,” she smirked, “is an excellent question.”

Instantly, the teen scrunched his brows into a massive scowl.

The look she was receiving right now was probably quite similar to the look she used to give Vic when she had first gotten to know that beautiful, insufferable knucklehead. Realized that, she couldn’t help herself but letting out a few chuckles, which only made the redhead scowled harder and regarded her dubiously, as though he was questioning if it was a good decision to come talking to a stranger who might actually turn out to be crazy.

 

***

 

Finally, he lost it. Seeing the reddish figure stepped into the control room, he acknowledged clearly.

Considered how he had been smashed by a crowbar, come back from dead with a brain damage and been soaked in the crazy juice, let alone the amount of head injuries he had gotten his whole life since he was a boy, it seemed to be a rather reasonable development that one day he was just going to lose his mind. The only surprise about this, he guessed, was the day hadn’t come sooner.

He wondered if the reason that he had gone mental now, it’s because he wasn’t pushing back anymore. Was it because he had seen for certain that there’s no way out this time, so he had finally let it all go and let the insanity took him before the death did (for the second time and for good).

Why did he even struggle anyway. He had never asked himself that, but now he questioned.

Though he couldn’t say it would be better, but it sure as hell would be less agonizing. People like the clown, his girlfriend, and any of his roommates at the asylum, they never appeared to be agonized; never seemed they needed to be struggling for crap or suffering for crap. Why couldn’t he just be them?

“-- _Why don’t you burn down the city yourself,_ ” Grayson had retorted, about a month ago.

Though he only loved Gotham as much as he loved a nut house, the thought of laying waste to the city had never really risen to his mind.

Instantly, the rhetorical question had brought up a memory of Talia. He had recalled how the woman had questioned him before he had returned to Gotham as a new man, asking him if there’s anything from his past life he was still holding onto. Unlike her, Dick hadn’t seemed to be at all convinced by his response. The guy had just kept talking with confidence, like he actually had any idea of what he was talking about. And for a dark, consuming moment, he had wanted nothing more but to lay waste to that hellhole just to prove him wrong.

The city was doomed anyway. And if everything was just doomed to go up in flame, was there really a reason that he couldn’t just burn it all down himself and have fun doing that? Sitting inside a dead trap, he asked himself, and the answer was lost to him.

If he could have just wandered further, just immersing deep into the rabbit hole where all the crazies belonged, then he probably would have died laughing, since everything in his reality was just practically one gigantic joke.

As he was slumping in front of the central computer that kept counting down upon him with a dead terrorist being his only company on the road of death, he didn’t feel like laughing.

He felt like crap, in truth. He felt like shouting, and kicking, and punching.

He felt like he was stuck in the limbo for far too long which he didn’t even know why he would have gotten himself stuck inside. And he also felt like telling the damn hallucination that was appearing in front of him to **_get lost_** because the last thing he needed for his final moment was to be mocked.

He was about to spit out the word, but then he paused for a second, sensing something was off.

The hallucination he was having right now didn’t seem it was here to _mock_ him.

If his brain wanted to mock him, it probably wouldn’t have sent him this. There’re better candidates than this red-haired figure. A clown could’ve showed up and laughed at his face; or an angry lowlife with a pair of dusty blue eyes could have come and told him what a worthless waste of space he was for the millionth time, or a big, great bat with all of its high and almightiness could’ve been standing above him, regarding him the same way a king would a pariah; or even a sick, broken woman could’ve presented herself to him and cried, “ _No, baby, I’m not good. You know I’m not good. So why didn’t you make everything better? Why haven’t you done anything? Why couldn’t you be a man and save me?_ ”

The boyish figure in the control room wasn’t anything as taunting as any of those. It wasn’t its mission to mock him, he reckoned quickly. It probably was just here to stare him down, with a pair of green eyes that was overclouded, so he could die knowing thoroughly how destructive he was that he would’ve smeared those nice, clear eyes and swallowed their light carelessly with the dirt in his blood.

“Get lost,” he spitted without looking the hallucination in its eyes. Even though it wasn’t here to mock him and enrage him, the way it might be staring at him was still the opposite of pleasuring.

The hallucination appeared to be displeased.

“Good to see you too, jackass,” it grumbled sarcastically, while striding across the room.

Jason pulled himself up slowly onto his feet, startled to find that the way the reddish figure moved and talked was frightfully realistic.

Before he could figure out what was happening, the redhead spoke up promptly, “Is _that_ why the whole place is going crazy?” The pair of green eyes was glaring at the central computer behind Jason.

A hand shoved him aside as the teenager rushed to the computer in urgency, and the touch of that hand felt nothing but real.

Roy reached out quickly to the control panel and started typing.

It would appear he hadn’t lost it after all. It was _the world_ that had lost it.

Eyes staring dubiously at the kid, Jason opened his mouth, but the critical situation forced him to swallow down his sudden urge for shouting.

Instead of bawling at Roy about what the _fuck_ he was doing in here, Jason asked grimly, “Do you know how to stop it?”

“Sure,” the redhead responded thoughtlessly, summoning a spark of hope to Jason’s heart.

At first, Jason was watching the fingers of the teen dancing rabidly on the control panel with some bright anticipation. But after seeing the computer denied Roy for the third time in the same way it had kept denying him minutes ago, he could no longer hold onto his hope.

Leaning beside Roy with his hand bracing on the console, he announced in a dark voice, “This is hopeless.”

The kid ignored him and tried his luck with the computer again. And once again, the computer refused to grant him the access. “—Urgh! Stupid computer,” fist thumped on the panel, the kid grouched crossly.

“Just forget it,” Jason grumbled.

There’s nothing they could do now. He embraced the fact which he once had been fully embraced before the redhead had suddenly come out of nowhere and provided him some false hope.

Whatever reason that had brought Roy into this place at this moment, it had brought the kid to his death. The part of Jason that just couldn’t stop struggling tried hard to figure out a way to get the redhead to safety at least, but there just didn’t seem to be any solution he could scrape out from his brain.

He hadn’t thought things could’ve gotten any worse, but Roy was about to die with him in a terrorist base, so he guessed things did have a way to be getting _way_ worse.

The kid was supposed to be _safe_. Jason really couldn’t understand how come he wasn’t.

He had already kicked him out before Roy could be dragged down any deeper with him. The kid was supposed to be far away from him, but for some unimaginable reason, he was going to end up dying by his side.

Jason didn’t know why. He didn’t know what the ** _f_ _uck_** this universe had against him that he would have to deal with this.

The irritation was burning strong in his mind, and he just wanted to grasp Roy by his shoulders and bawl at him because this goddamn kid was so **_inconsiderate_** that he couldn’t even let him die thinking he was going to get his life back together and that he would be safe and sound at somewhere faraway.

He wanted to lash out, but there’re less than two minutes before the whole facility blew up to kingdom come; and it just felt incredibly idiotic to die angry at someone he didn’t want to be angry with.

 _Screw it_ , he murmured to himself, then reached out at Roy who still hadn’t given up and was about to fight the computer again.

One of his hands clutched tightly on the teen’s shoulder, while the other one sliding to the side of his head and pulling up his face.

He ground the chapped lips with his own ones, getting the defenseless mouth to open before diving into the warmth that he had learned from the past it was sweet and cozy.

For a moment, he was away from all craps and submerged into the sensation, the connection.

But then Roy broke the moment by pushing him away.

“This is _so_ not the time,” the redhead informed him sternly in exasperation.

“We’re going to die in…” he took a glance at the digital screen. “--Forty-five seconds. This is definitely the time.” Eyes returning to Roy, he gave the redhead a thoughtful look. “And your eyes are insanely green, do you know that?”

The pair of green eyes regarded him incredulously.

“Did you seriously just make a pass at me?” the redhead retorted, looking slightly weirded out.

Not really inclined to hear his answer, Roy turned his head back to the computer before Jason could say anything.

“Not that it isn’t entertaining to see you being all weird and sentimental, but I didn’t come all the way here just so I could die in an explosion with you,” Roy declared strongly, then to Jason’s horror, he tore open the mainframe and shoved the cybernetic arm into the machine.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though Renee isn't the only candidate for this role, I do think she is the best one for the job.  
> I would've said it's because she was an alcoholic at one point, and that she has a longtime association with Bats and has a complicated thing with Harvey who has something personal with teenager Jason in Pre52, but honestly I just like her. Her story with Vic is great and is exactly the type of things I dig.
> 
> FYI, I just couldn't see how a Roy Harper wouldn't have shoved his own cybernetic arm into a mainframe in a way of "hacking" into the computer.


	23. Chapter 23

The electric sparks spurted out from the junction between the artificial arm and the mainframe. The contained energy within the arm was discharged into the central computer, stirring up some low, ominous hum from the machine.

The display was distorted, flickering on and off color while the timer that was still counting down jumping between different positions. The humming tune was building up, gaining closer and closer to an extent that sounded like it was just going to explode before the timer reached zero.

Instead of erupting fire, the machine puffed out its last breath.

The light of the central computer was extinguished. The screen went dark in a blink; the alarm system was shut down as the computer was slayed by the overload.

No more maddening siren and red warning light, the entire place fell into silence.

Staring at the dead screen for a couple of seconds, Jason started slowly, “Did you know it’ll work?”

“Of course,” the redhead asserted, pulling out his arm from the machine with more effort than he had inserted it in.

Jason turned his eyes on him.

“Okay, so what if it doesn’t work? The whole place was going to blow up anyway.” Regardless of the incredulous look Jason was sending him, Roy moved his arm a little, giving it a self-diagnosis. “Battery’s dead,” he declared plainly.

Not especially seemed to be concerned about the status of his arm, he dropped it down while turning to Jason, who had nothing to conceal his face at the moment save for the black domino he wore underneath since he had destroyed his own hood minutes ago.

The Red Hood helmet was lying deathly across the room, looking as irremediable as the fried computer and the dead terrorist leader.

Now he wasn’t going to die for the second time, the action he had taken in the heat of the moment just seemed a bit drastic. Seeing how he didn’t have a spare in his belongings, it would appear if he wanted to keep up the Red Hood persona, he would have to find himself another one from now on (Though he still wasn’t sure what he should really do with the unused one he already had, there’s no chance in the world he would ever wear it and bring it into his mission).

“Smart call getting back the dark hair,” Roy commented after giving him a quick inspection. “—I like this better. You kind of reminded me of my counterpart with the red hair, which is just creepy.”

“So Batman turned me into a carrot head and it gave _you_ the creep. Well, why don’t you just be honest with me and say so? Are you afraid it might hurt my feeling?” Jason retorted sardonically in a flat tone.

At present, his hair was all dark, without the streak of grey that had been sticking with him ever since he had crawled his way out of his grave.

Before he had gone out for this first mission he had since he had left Gotham, he had decided to cut his hair as short as it used to be and dye it.

After he had cut the hair, there’s a moment when he had looked into the mirror, and he had wondered if he just let the color fade out instead of covering it with hair dye, would that stain of grey reappear, sticking out like a sore thumb and telling everyone that what he once had considered as the best days of his life, he had been living it as a replacement of another boy—another young hero--that just wasn’t him, and as soon as he had showed his true color, things had gone straight to south.

Ironically, his hair had never returned into its original color ever since Bruce had dyed it to make him look more like the original Robin. The dark hadn’t dissolved in years, which was fine; despite how much he hated to be constantly compared to another boy and living under the shadow of another, at least the raven hair actually suited him.

Standing in front of the mirror in his temporary hideout, he had smeared the black dye over his hair. Thanks for Grayson, the red color he had been carrying might’ve taken several months to fade, or it might’ve never faded at all. If he wanted to carry on with his work, he needed to be focus, he needed to act without doubt, without getting held back, and he couldn’t do it with the red weighting upon him.

Not waiting for Roy to come up with some casual reply, Jason cut straight to the point, asking the question he had been too close to death to ask, “What are you doing here?”

The deserted facility where the terrorist group had set up their base was over half the country away from LA. As far as Jason knew, those guys had just gotten started; they had been making some attacks in this specific state, but hadn’t made any public announcement or reached out to the government just yet. Since the purpose of the attacks was still unclear, the local government had been trying to suppress the news, in avoidance of public panic. If Jason hadn’t gotten into this part of the country, he wouldn’t even have learned about the attacks. It was unlikely that Roy would’ve caught the news at LA which was where he had been when Jason had gone to see him for the last time about two weeks ago, and decided to take it as his responsibility to trace down the attackers.

But why else would he be here, if not for the bad guys? Jason couldn’t think of a legitimate reason behind this except that the teen did learn about the group somehow and he was here by chance.

The redhead regarded him thoughtfully.

“You didn’t throw away the helmet,” instead of answering, he said, “--which is good, ‘cause if you did, I wouldn’t have known how to find you.”

Confused by what Roy was telling him, Jason knitted his brows into a frown. “What do you mean ‘find me’? What…? Do you have a tracker on the thing?”

“If you want to accuse me for privacy violation, remember you have a tracker in my _arm_ ,” Roy replied stoutly with his arms crossed over his chest. “But no, I did not put a tracker in the helmet. I just triangulated the communication signal it’s left on my laptop when I’ve been testing the function. You weren’t there when I’ve gotten into your hideout. I found the blueprint of this place, and I saw your gears were missing. So I figured maybe you’re here.”

“You came into this place because you _figured_ maybe I’m here,” he regarded Roy dully. “And you’ve also figured you should just get into the heart of a terrorist base which was under red alert, instead of getting out.”

The teen shrugged. “There’re a lot of fresh bodies out there. It seemed to me you were here and there’s a good chance you might still be here somewhere.”

“So you risked your own life while you didn’t even know for certain that I would be here.” With a cutting edge in his voice, he retorted acidly, “What are you really looking for? Me? Or death?”

Eyes glimmering in irritation, Roy moved forward with a finger pointing out at Jason. “Don’t give me that,” the kid rebuked him. “You think I’m going to head out when there’s a chance you might still in here and you need help? If I haven’t been here, you’ll be _dust_ by now. You’re _welcome_ , by the way.”

“Because I should be thankful that you almost die with me?” he snorted coldly, wasn’t sure what aggravated him more; the fact that the kid had almost gotten himself killed when he could’ve gotten to safety, or the fact that he had almost gotten himself killed _because_ of _him_.

They glared at each other for a couple of seconds, until he realized Roy was standing right inside his personal space and that the pair of green eyes was indeed maddeningly green.

Turning his gaze away, he took a step backward. The expression on Roy’s face shifted into something uncertain.

“Why are you looking for me,” Jason asked. And for the first time since he had showed up, Roy seemed a bit hesitated.

“I want to talk.”

“We already talked the last time. What’s there left to say.”

“We didn’t talk the last time, big guy. You gave me speeches the last time,” the kid countered in a grumble. “I…do we have to do it in here?” he tipped his head in hint of their surroundings, putting the conversation on hold. “Can we go to somewhere with less dead bodies and has absolutely no super computer that could’ve blown us up?”

The request wasn’t insensible. Though the crisis was over and it didn’t appear there would be any more danger, it was still a risky place for them to hang around and chat.

It was clear that they should left the place, but Jason just wasn’t so sure should they leave the place _together_.

He regarded Roy for a moment, hoping whatever the kid wanted to talk to him about would be short; because if it was, they might as well just do it in here. Just finished it in a couple of minutes and went back to their separate ways.

Reckoned it was unlikely that Roy would’ve come all the way here just to say a word or two, he turned around and led the kid to the exit.

Seeing no one showed up as they were getting out of the facility, it would appear that every member of the terrorists group was either dead or had run for their lives during the red alert.

Though some of the terrorists might’ve survived this day, the facility wouldn’t.

Jason had already planted several bombs inside the building before he had been caught and getting into a near-death situation. It would be a shame to let all those bombs go to waste. He picked up his old plan and detonated them once he and Roy had left the terrorist base. Since now he wasn’t going to die with it, the death of the structure was nothing but enjoyable.

After spending a moment to just stand there and watch the structure shaken and crumpled at close quarters with Roy, who undoubtedly was also enjoying the show, Jason got back on his track and headed further away.

Awhile later, they had gotten distance away from the terrorist base.

Seeing Jason had stopped at a deserted ground, the teen frowned in bafflement. “I thought we’re going back to your place.”

“No, we’re not,” Jason replied curtly.

The last time they had seen each other was supposed to be _the last time_ they would ever be getting to see each other; the fact that Roy had sought him out was questionable enough, he wasn’t going to just bring the kid into his hideout, not after he had made the mistake of doing it once at Gotham.

The ground was empty and private enough for them to talk. Whatever the kid wanted to talk to him about, he would have to do it in the open, where they could take their departure as soon as the conversation was finished.

“So I don’t even get to be invited to your place after I saved your life,” Roy scoffed with some dry irony. “—Whatever happened to us, big guy? Are my eyes not ‘insanely green’ anymore?”

He should’ve known the kid wouldn’t let it slide.

“People get a little bit crazy when they think they’re going to die--again. You know how it is,” he shrugged off the reminder promptly, pretending he wasn’t a bit embarrassed.

The kid nodded in acknowledgment.

“You weren’t thinking straight, I’m sure,” his tone was sympathetic, but the small smirk on his lips showed Jason otherwise.

Having no intention to spend more time chatting and bickering with Roy like they were a couple of friends, he swallowed down the comeback he was compelled to voice and steered them back on track.

“What is it you want to talk to me about?” he asked plainly.

The hesitation drifted to Roy’s face for the second time.

“After you left the pub that day, I followed you out. Because I wanted to prove you wrong,” he started slowly, after studying Jason for a moment.

“I wanted to prove that I do have it under control, that it doesn’t have anything on me and I can walk away from the liquor any second I want. But you’re not wrong. At the end of that day, I’ve gone to a store and bought myself three bottles of booze, and when I woke up the next day, I woke up on the toilet.”

A spindrift of irritation chilled him. It wasn’t that he was angry at Roy or anyone or anything specific.

The kid had a drinking problem, there’s nothing he could actually do to undo what’s done. Things wouldn’t come undone just because he hoped he could’ve undone it. It was a simple fact and it shouldn’t be irritating, but for no reason at all, he still felt somewhat angry.

“So maybe you’re right,” the kid was saying, “I haven’t slipped up so far, but if I keep up the drinking, maybe one day I will. The last time I failed to handle something that I thought I had it handle, it cost me a lot. I don’t want to make the same mistake again. I need to put myself in the game, not in the bottom of the bottles. I don’t want to end up dying nothing just because I have a liking for the liquor.”

That’s good. The irritation waved off as the kid went on, but the weight remained upon him.

He regarded the kid with question, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to hear that, but how does it concern me.”

“I want to quit, and figure out what I should really do with my life,” Roy replied with a half shrug, “I need to do it myself, but I don’t want to do it alone.”

“And you’re saying this to me because you forgot where your clone or the Titans Tower is, and you want me to point you the direction?” he asked in reply, couldn’t help from letting the stinger get into his voice.

It would appear the near-death experience had indeed taken its toll on him. He thought it was possible that his brain was still mixed-up, because there’s no way Roy was implying what sounded like he was implying.

“I came telling you this is because I can use some help and I think you can help me,” Roy responded curtly, didn’t find the sting in his voice to be anything desirable. “--Just so you know, you might _think_ the gibe sounds funny, but it just comes off like you’re a douche.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” impassively, he said. “I can’t help you with anything,” he made it as clear as he could, but Roy shook his head.

“That’s not true. You helped me before. With Black Mask, at first, then with the arm, and some other things.”

“I wasn’t helping you,” his voice was clear of doubt and hesitation.

If he had ever helped Roy in any way, he would’ve actually been helpful to him.

Whatever had he done to the kid that was helpful.

“Whatever you think was me helping you, I was just doing it as an investment. Because you’re an asset,” he stated as he saw Roy scowling at him questionably. “I thought it’ll be nice to have an associate back then, I don’t think that anymore. I can’t help you with anything, kid. If I help you, it means I’ll have to be getting _involved_ with you, and I don’t ever want to be involved with anyone.”

 _\--Especially not you_. He kept the last part to himself.

“Then why did you come and find me?” Pissed off by what Jason was telling him, the kid swung back roughly, “If you don’t want anything to do with me, why tracked me down to LA and told me all those stuffs.”

“I was trying to do some damage control,” he replied, which wasn’t entirely untrue.

His lips twisted up into a mocking sneer. “You think I’d like to have a couple of League members going after me with _arrows_ when they found out you’ve gotten an alcohol poisoning on my behalf?”

The kid bit his teeth a little. The hurt in his eyes wasn’t completely coated by the annoyance. It was painful to look at. Jason looked at him emotionlessly.

“So that’s it?” Roy spitted. “We’re associates, and you’ve only come to me and given me speeches because you wanted to cover up your own ass.”

Glaring at Jason for a moment, he enquired, “ _Our time together_ —does that not mean anything at all to you?”

“It doesn’t.”

It did.

Though it was never in his interest to hurt the redhead, but if that’s what it had to take to snuff out the idea Roy was having in his head, then that’s exactly what he would do.

“That’s crap,” the kid countered in a grunt.

“It’s your problem if you don’t want to believe it, but that’s the truth.”

“Well, _screw you_ ,” the teen snapped with his flesh fist clenched together, appeared to be genuinely hating how remote Jason seemed. “You said you let me in, now I don’t entirely understand what you meant by that, but I do understand that it’s _true_ and it means **_something_**.”

With the anger drifted off from his eyes, a small tinge of grief was laid in the open, right within the glint of certitude.

“You want to start being a liar now, that’s fine. But those months do mean something to me, and I’m sorry if that’s not what you want, but I can’t just dig it out of my head and leave it at where I died.”

The firmness on his face. The raw glare. The way he refused to back down even though he had those sores in his eyes. It was murdering.

And how Jason _hated_ getting murdered.

“What the _fuck_ do you think those times even **_mean_**?” The metallic wrath burst out before he could mask it with something less naked. “--That your life has become so much better since you’ve gotten involved with me? Think about what happened, Roy, you drew blood because I made you to, and you’ve taken to drink _because_ of it.”

He puffed out an acid snort, mouth twisted into a fine line between a cold sneer and a vicious snarl. “You have a drinking problem because of what _I_ did, because of _me_. And now you’re asking me to help you quit, you’re asking me to…what? Spend some more time with you? Do you seriously think the damage isn’t enough, you have to come and ask for _more_?”

Seemed to be taken aback by his anger at first, the kid regarded him with uncertainty; then a few seconds later, the expression on his face shifted. Roy gave him a sideways look as though he was wondering if he was stupid or something.

“Have you been somehow involved with Red Arrow too?” the redhead retorted dryly. “Because according to what I heard, the old guy--who has my gene--also had an addiction once. So unless you had something to do with that, I think it’s safe to say that I might have an addictive personality and I can totally be an addict without you.”

“What happened to your clone is beside the point.”

“It’s not. He and I might not be the same person, but we’re not that different.”

Eyes trailed off slightly from Jason’s face, he uttered quietly, “You and I, I thought we’re different, but maybe we’re not that different too.”

No, they were. They couldn’t be any more different.

Forgot about the first and the last argument they had had at Gotham, the fact that Roy would’ve sought him out after _everything_ was enough to made it clear that they were entirely different species.

Considered for a moment, Jason started suddenly, “After I was caught by Batman, the guy has sent me to Arkham, so I wouldn’t have to be exposed to other inmates. I tried to get myself to be transferred to the conventional prison, you want to know why I did that?”

He flicked Roy a vague, frigid smile that contained no emotion. “--Because I wanted to purge that place. I was going to take out every garbage in that prison at once. I was going to end all dozens of them, and it wouldn’t be a fight, it wouldn’t be an enforcement of any law. It would just be a _blood letting_.”

With his cold eyes staring at the redhead, he said slowly, indifferently, “You asked me before am I a good person, that’s the kind of person I am. You’re shaken by their deaths, I won’t and I’ll never, because I don’t give half a damn about them. I don’t care if they have a baby coming, I don’t care if they have a family, if they have some good left inside their dark souls, if they have any remorse to their crimes or any reason behind their crimes. I don’t care about any of those. But you do. You’re still seeing them as people. I see them as nothing.”

“So you kill criminals, what else is new,” the kid remarked flavorlessly. “Just because you’re a bad news to the bad guys doesn’t mean you have to be a bad news in general. I said I know you’re not a bad guy, I still think you aren’t.”

“You’ll have to be an idiot to actually believe that.”

“So what if I am,” the retort was bleak but quick with simplicity. “--What if I really am an idiot, what if I’m just really not as smart or as strong or as half as good as I thought I was.”

He dropped his gaze to the ground for a moment, taking some time to put his thoughts together before looking up straightly at Jason.

“You know, I’ve been trying to figure things out lately, so I asked myself a lot of questions,” he started in a plain voice. “I haven’t figured everything out just yet, but I did find some answers about myself.”

Flashed Jason a sad little smile, the kid said to him, “Right after I shot down Spencer, it felt like I was doing it out of options, like you’ve just taken the decision out of my hand and that I didn’t have any choice on the matter at all. But I did have a choice. I could’ve knocked the guy out, or I could’ve done nothing and let _you_ handle it. I mean, sure you wouldn’t be stupid enough to actually let him shoot you. But I opened a hole in his head, because _that_ is the kind of person I am.”

He got it **_wrong_**.

It wasn’t who he was. It wasn’t what had happened. What had happened was that he did take the decision out of the kid’s hand, because he had _thought_ he had known better.

He had made the decision he had reckoned it was best for Roy, as though the kid was incapable of making a decision himself. But the kid did make a decision, he just didn’t get to stick with it because it didn’t seem to be the right decision to Jason.

He had treated another boy the same way he had hated being treated when he was at the same age, except he had taken it further than Bruce would’ve done because he always took things further than Bruce would’ve done.

All these time, he thought he knew better and he could do better; just like how he had thought he had known better and he _was_ better than that mean old scum who possessed no love nor kindness but only a temper. Only brutality, only violence.

“It wasn’t your kill,” he clarified.

“But it was,” the kid replied clearly. “Sure, I think you might’ve emotional blackmailed me that night and it’s total bullshit, but that doesn’t mean I’m not at all responsible for any of those kills.” He paused and tossed Jason a look. “--Or do you think I’m just not old enough to hold responsible for my own action?”

Jason glared at him, hated it when the teen played dirty.

Having no regard of the dark look Jason was sending him, Roy spoke in an even tone, “I’m just the type of person who is capable of killing, I figured that now, and I also figured I don’t want to kill anyone unless I absolutely have to. I’ve made a choice that night, and I’ve made the choice of killed some more. And frankly, it feels sucks. I agree that the bad guys deserved to be punished, but I don’t want to have any more of their blood on me. I don’t know if I’m being selfish or weak that I don’t want to take lives even it might actually do the world a lot of good. I want to do good to the world, I don’t ever want to be selfish, or weak. But I don’t know how to tough it up like you do. And if that means I’m weak and selfish, then that’s how I am.”

Quietly, he said, with his eyes staring off at distance, “I’ve always wanted to prove myself to be stronger—to be _better_ \--than the boss gives me credit for. But maybe I’m just really not as good as I thought. Maybe I’m just this person who is too weak to not resort to drinks when things are too much for me to deal with, and I’m this person who would do stupid things and doesn’t really know what’s best and what’s not.”

His eyes turned up to Jason. His arm might’ve done the world some fatal damage, but it couldn’t be any more fatal than the vulnerability in his eyes, or that small, sad smile he was putting up.

“You wanna know the truth?” Roy said in an airy tone, “The truth is, I don’t always know how to handle myself. And I could really use the support.”

“What is it you even asking me for,” Jason enquired, in a voice that was too bleak and too raw. The irritation he had had moment ago had declined and he missed it greatly.

Without it, he felt unarmed.

The fact that Roy seemed to have somehow disarmed him was unnerving, terrifyingly so.

“You want to give me a call and have a chat with me whenever you feel like drinking? You want me to…what, be your emotional support?” he was aiming for tart and cutting, but his voice just came off as drained.

“That doesn’t sound half bad. But actually, I’m just thinking maybe we can team up again.”

He couldn’t have a worse idea than that. “That’s not going to happen,” Jason informed him.

Once again, the hurt rose to the kid’s eyes, and Jason hoped it would be enough, that he would finally take the hint and leave.

It looked like Roy did take the hint, but he did not leave.

“Why not,” he questioned with a nonchalant shrug. “You said I’m an asset. I can be helpful to you.”

Why was he doing this. Jason just didn’t get it.

Did the kid have no self-preservation whatsoever? Couldn’t he see that it would only turn out bad for him?

“If you want some help for your drinking problem, why don’t you just go to an AA meeting instead,” he tried to reason with Roy, “Maybe you’ll meet some nice people in there and they can be your friend, or your sponsor. That’ll do you help.”

“I did go to an AA meeting and met a nice lady, actually,” the redhead told him. “But I don’t just want someone to help me out whenever I want a drink. I want someone to help me out with my work, and some other things. I want someone to…be at my side.”

“But where's my ring,” he retorted dryly; to which, Roy was unamused. “--Why me,” he asked without looking at Roy. “Why not your clone, or anyone from the Teen Titans.”

The kid shrugged. “Mostly because I like you better.”

Seeing Jason’s eyes drifted to him, he demanded promptly with some embarrassment, “Don’t…say anything. Just keep your mouth shut and listen.”

Jason stayed quiet.

Glancing at him for a second longer, Roy went on evenly, “I feel like it’s okay to just be myself with you. I may not be all that good, but hey, so do you. And it’s okay that I may not be half as good as I thought. It’s okay that I’m just not the greatest person in the world. I can be better. Or at least I could try to be.”

It seemed like now it was fine for Jason to say something. But what was he supposed to say?

“I actually thought you own it, you know,” seeing Jason had made no response, Roy spoke up again after regarding him for a moment. “You’re always giving me all those big talks, like you have everything figured out. I thought you are different than me, but maybe you’re not that different. Maybe we’re more alike than I thought, and you’re still just trying to get a hold of things, just trying to figure things out like I am.”

His lips parted, he was compelled to say something quick before Roy reached any conclusion. But the word wasn’t quite there.

Roy continued, “Maybe we could both use the support. Maybe if we just…do it together, we might actually figure things out. We can help each other out.”

“It’s a bad idea,” finally, he found it in himself to say.

It didn’t sound like the best response he should’ve come up with, but at the moment, it was the only thing he could manage.

Roy snorted at him. “I’m guessing you would know that is because you have the answer to the universe?”

“You’re being stupid. Don’t be stupid.”

“I might think about it, but not until you stop being like a tool first,” returned with some mild irony, Roy then paused for a beat. “You let me in before, don’t shut me out now,” he said, with his eyes meeting with Jason’s.

In spite of every brain cell in Jason’s head was screaming for him to pull out, he couldn’t help himself but stared back.

When he looked deep, he could see there’s a raw in Roy’s eyes; which indicated that the redhead wasn’t all that confident, that he had doubt—had _fear_ —that he was indeed being stupid and mistaken, that never for a moment he had actually been let in to anywhere.

That was the weak spot he could strike, and he wanted to strike it; wanting to put so much hurt in this vulnerable redhead, that he would have no choice but retreated to safety.

He wanted to do that. It was the smartest things to do. It was the most best thing he could do.

What did he really know about doing the best thing?

“You stick with me, and I’m going to be your ruin,” the sound of his utter was too weak to carry out any strike.

“You’re so full of yourself,” remarked Roy tersely with an eye-roll.

“I’m not kidding,” he swung back with an annoyed edge in his voice. “--I’m not going to do you any good.”

“But shouldn't that be left for me to decide?”

Pondering for a moment, Roy spoke in a murmur, “I think you and I, we can both use someone. That’s why I come to you and not anyone else. I think you might…need me. But if you really don’t want anything to do with me, then just say the word, Jay. And we don’t ever need to see each other again.”

The window of opportunity was wide open. His eyes nailed at Roy, his lips parted and the word was more than ready to be made.

The kid could’ve handed him a knife and let him stab him in the chest, and it couldn’t have made it any more easier for Jason.

He didn’t know should he call the redhead masochistic or brave or just really, _really_ idiotic.

“How do you suppose it could work, when we already failed the last time?” instead of taking the opportunity, he questioned; because he had questions about this, and because even though Roy was defenseless, he too had been disarmed.

“We could try to do better, I guess?” Roy applied simply. “Nothing needs to change, we can just keep doing what we have been doing, except this time, I’m going to take full responsibility for my own work. I won’t say anything about how you do your things, and you won’t say anything or try to change the way of how I do mine.”

The kid might not have realized, but what he was suggesting was a joke.

If they’re really going to have a start over, things most certainly would be changed.

Repeating the same thing and expecting a different result, that’s the definition of insanity. And it was insanity, if he would agree to have a second chance with Roy.

People like Grayson, or Drake, or the other Roy Harper, that’s who the kid should spend his chances with. They were the people who had kindness in their hearts, who had faith; they were the ones who had mercy, even to the enemies.

All Jason ever had was all he was born with.

Nothing.

With a glint of hope in his eyes, Roy asked, “How does that sound to you.”

It sounded insane.

Involuntarily, he recalled the times he had ever had hope in something.

He recalled how everything had seemed to have turned for the better when Bruce had offered him a chance of having a different life.

He recalled how hopeful he was, when he had learned about the existence of his birth mother; how desperate—how stupidly naïve he was--that he would’ve believed he could actually seek out a true connection with someone he had never known of his entire childhood, who had never had any intent to find him but just left him in the care of a man who had never cared shit for anything nor anyone as soon as he was born.

It would be _insane_ , if he was going to relive the mistake of being stupid again.

What Roy was offering could not be accepted. Accepting it would be a stupid thing to do; it would be a selfish thing to do.

It would be like that he actually needed anyone in his life.

“That…sounds like a plan.”

An answer escaped his mouth before he had the full knowledge of what he just said. The voice of it was small, and weak, and so excessively young, it almost sounded like he was just this young person who had only gotten at the start of his adulthood.

He didn't know why he would feel like it was the correct respond. It was a stupid thing to say. It was an immature thing to say. It was selfish and it was insane.

But the light of hope he was seeing in those eyes was strong, it exposed him with its brightness and chased away the shadows he could hide.

The light was good; and when Roy’s mouth stretched into a broad smile, it was the moment did he finally realize that what he truly longed for wasn’t blood or any fatal revenge.

All he ever longed for was some good in his life.

All he ever longed for was for things to be better, and that's what Roy was offering him.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're back together.  
> Because I didn't just spend all these times bringing them together and having them attached to each other just so I can break them apart for convenience sake, and don't even make something interesting or any sort of character development out of the change of event but just downplay it most of the times, or worst, sweep the entire relationship under the rug and acting like it's just completely forgotten. I'm not a monster. I have heart :0)


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning to post this along with the epilogue, but holy BATMAN, this chpt exhausted me. So I didn't actually start the epilogue just yet.
> 
> Comments and Kudos are highly appreciated!

One thing for certain, he was efficient.

All of his movements were sharp, fluid with decision (Since his fighting style was rather straightforward, the leather jacket he was currently wearing fitted him better than any capes. It gave him more liberty). The level of confidence he attained was as high as to be expected; but then again, the complication about him was never the lack of decisions or sufficiency.

His capabilities were never in doubt. He was talented from the start, and he was nothing but proficient by now. Ever since the very beginning, it had been clear that he had the potential to become one of the best, but along with his potentials, there’re the radical leaning, the impulsive nature, the rage and the baggage that came from his past, his background. Those were what had certified him of being one of the uncontrollable few in the first place, then ultimately, they had helped sentenced him to be one of the most…irretrievable.

Like the others who had gone through the same trainings, he possessed the good sense and ability to operate orderly, finished and precise. But he was—essentially--intuitive than most, always tended to take in his own instinct over everything else.

The thing that had never been spoken of was that he had a keen instinct, and his propensity to rely on it allowed him to response quickly without much doubts or hesitation.

He wasn’t the one who might be lost inside the millions of theories in his head. Just like his self-assurance and his self-reliance, it could be a merit, but although his instinct was great, it wouldn’t always be right (“-- _No one’s **always** right,_ ” the other had remarked disapprovingly. The same conversation had happened to him for too many times with too many people, it didn’t have any more on him than it ever did. “ _I’m right about this,_ ” was how he had replied, same as always). The way he was prone to listen exclusively to himself in against the voice of the world was bounded to be his downfall (Assuming that his anger wasn’t).

The ongoing revaluation that was giving to him was different than the ones that had been given to the others who had already been approached and revaluated recently. There was no personal test or challenge that had been orchestrated, since he was—as he always had been—his own biggest challenge.

Moving between a flock of securities, he struck them down neatly, in a unique fashion that could also be found on Dick and Tim but _deadlier_.

The force he wielded was brutal, and although it was within expectation, his proficiency in gun handling was still rather alarming.

Witnessing it personally established the previous concern. There’s a similar concern about Damian, except at this point, the concern about the young man here was higher.

The revaluation that had been given to Dick and Damian awhile ago had showed where the boy stood. It was marvelous to see how adequate they were to their new roles. How they had reached the expectation and perhaps even excessed it. Despite his inheritance, the boy had adapted himself to the new life and chosen to be something rather than what he had been raised to be. Although it was positive that there still would be problems to come, at least at the moment, Damian was making the efforts, and he had Dick to help him staying in the right direction.

On the other hand, where Red Hood— _Jason_ —standing was outside the law, same as he had been since he had returned a couple of years ago. And unlike Damian who had an elder to be his compass, the only one he appeared to have in company the present day was a young boy, who, if indeed possessed the same personality traits as his counterpart, might be as rash and as impulsive as Red Arrow used to be (and possibly still was).

The unexpected development wasn’t just surprising but also deeply concerning.

There’re some incident reports had been found in the police archive that had suggested the two of them had encountered each other almost a year ago.

Though the two had never had any association in the past, they weren’t without common. It wasn’t impossible to imagine how Jason might have taken an interest to the boy, or how the boy would have decided to associate with Jason since he had headed off on his own (As far as he could remember, the one who had been derived from this boy was never inclined to be in solitary. Though he couldn’t say he knew everything about Roy, he did aware of the fact that the young man was at his best when he was connected to the others. There was past evident to suggest that he could easily become a danger to himself when he was left to his own device. In his opinion, although Roy’s basic need for having connection with people could turn out to be his biggest strength, it could also be his greatest weakness).

After learning everything that had happened to the boy—how he had lost decade of his life to the criminals, how difficult his life had been in the past, and how he had had a falling out with his legal guardian (A pang was raised by that certain piece of knowledge. He pushed it down along with his own memories), it was almost certain that he and Jason would be the _perfect storm_.

The boy was at a critical stage of his life. There’re several reports of incident that had suggested that the young Roy had developed an aggressive disposition. The resemblance in their experiences might be a trigger to Jason, and the fact that the boy was still young could only make him impressionable.

Though the common he and Jason might find in one another could help them build up an affiliation, essentially, having the two of them together would be like pouring oil on the flames.

The earliest assumption had been further confirmed once he had gone through some crime reports in Gotham. If he was right (and there’s no doubt he was), then the boy had already reached the point of resorting to murder almost half a year ago.

For a while, it would seem the team-up was over. And from the way he had seen it with his rational eyes, it would only be better if they stuck apart.

Except the parting didn’t stick.

By the time he had started his current study on Jason, the two had already been back together. It was an unwarranted complication to him, but so far, it didn’t seem the boy had caused any more dead once his time in Gotham was over, and the recent number of fatality on Jason’s records was relatively low ever since the two had teamed up again and set up shop in LA.

Though the cause of their previous parting was unclear to him, it wasn’t an unanticipated result. There could be various reasons for them to split apart; although the boy was young, he wasn’t young enough to be without his own thoughts, his own opinions, and Jason—Jason was headstrong, and uncompromising to say the least. It would only be incomprehensible if there never was a disagreement between the two of them and the association worked out amicably.

The question he was having wasn’t why they had broken apart in the first place, but rather why they would’ve decided to have another run with each other.

Was there something changed in their minds during their time apart? Had the possible disagreement between them been dissolved? Had one of them (both of them?) compromised and come to terms with the other?

What should be made of it, that was the main question.

The fact that the boy had drawn blood at one point suggested he might’ve already been influenced by Jason; but did he gain anything else during their time together besides the lethal measure? Was he the only one who was influenced by their association? Would Jason—by any chance—have been influenced by his affiliation to the boy as well?

Had he _changed_ in any way during these days save for the slightly different outfit and the apparently _new_ helmet?

Right now, the cooperation he was watching was great. Better than he would’ve imagined for those who didn’t have the best records for teamwork.

There appeared to be a tacit understanding between the two of them. Though the casualness and the constant word-trading seemed rather questionable to him (The lack of strict professionalism in their operating manners slightly reminded him of Dick and Damian; except from where he could see, it didn’t exactly seem like Jason was carrying out the part of a big brother like Dick was. Despite the age difference, they regarded each other as if they were peers. And there was a distinct sense of intimacy that could be found in their response to each other, which was…mildly perplexing, but not seemed to be crucial enough that would require to be added into his many concerns), all and all, the two appeared to be genuinely at ease with each other. The compatibility was surprisingly high. It almost as though they were— _balanced_ \--together.

He wondered if he was wrong about them, that the pair-up perhaps wasn’t as hazardous as he had thought, that they might actually turn out to be a benefit to one another.

In order to seek out the answer, he continued observing the pair closely, while preparing himself to step in at any second before the first blood could be spilled (There was no fatality just yet, and it wouldn’t be tonight, not under his watch).

Took down the securities effortlessly, the two moved up to the top floor where they would meet the real challenge.

The owner of this institution had been doing a study about meta-human DNA. In the name of helping the people who wanted to improve their lives, he was in truth using them as a subject for his work, turning the average people into meta-humans, then eventually, using their powers for his own gain.

Inside the top floor of the institution building, the two were fighting against a group of mutated humans who had no control to their own minds.

The bullets from Jason’s guns were directed mainly into their limbs. Seeing all shots were diverted from the vital points, the fact that those he was shooting at were still just a bunch of innocent people behind the appearance didn’t seem to be lost to him.

Although some of the mutants were crippled by the leg shots, it wasn’t enough to cease the attack.

The mutants continued charging at Jason; he kept up the gun-shooting while leaping away adroitly before one of them could strike him with their enhanced strength.

Meanwhile, the Harper boy was engaging with the other half of the assault team. He was proficient in wielding his own weaponized arm. His response was quick, but not without precision, which was to be expected from someone who had been trained by Oliver for such long time (Same as Jason, the concern about this boy wasn’t the quality of his skill, but rather what state of mind he’s in).

Despite how adequate they were, the enhanced abilities of their opponents had ordained it would be a tough battle for them. If they couldn’t find a way to stop the mutants from attacking, eventually, they would be worn out.

That was assumed Jason wouldn’t stop withholding the fatal shot and go for the last resort. He added to himself.

Though he hoped he could say the thought of exterminate those mutated people was out of Jason’s consideration, but frankly, there’s no guarantee to that.

It wasn’t a way he could ever accept. No matter how little chances these people might have to have their transformation reversed, no matter how critical the situation could be, taking their lives— _taking **any** life_\--was never the solution. It was never his way of dealing with matters, but it was, after all, _a way_.

As far as he had known, Jason wasn’t without compassion, wasn’t without sympathy (and he hoped—he **_hoped_** —that the experience of death, of _murder_ , hadn’t plundered so much from that boy, that the young man he was observing right now remained as much as the person he remembered), but he was a cynic at heart, molded by the hardship of a grim region of the grimmest of all cities. To him, the line was forever obscure; especially now, since taking lives was just something he could easily manage.

“As much as I like fighting creepy looking monsters on Saturday night, this is just really starting to get tiresome,” Jason announced to his companion while warding off the unceasing attack.

At the other side of the room, the Harper boy was driving one of the mutants into the ground. Once the mutant was down, he pulled out a small device he was carrying and ran a quick scan on the mutant before it could get up again.

“Cover me,” the boy said, seemingly had detected some electric signal that was sending out from what could be assumed was a controlling chip in the mutant’s head.

Surmounting the half of the assault team that was surging for him, the teen rushed to the owner of the institution who was staying safely at the back of the head office as Jason laid out the covering fire.

Knocked out the owner with a furious blow, Arsenal searched him for the thing he was using to command the mutated people.

“It doesn’t come with a off button,” the teen stated in a disgruntled tone while examining the device he found on the man.

Keeping his focus on the opponents, Jason returned offhandedly, “When do these things ever come with a off button?”

“Good point.”

The boy brought the device to the computer nearby, linking it to the computer in an attempt to stop the device from sending off offending signal to the mutants.

Since the destruction of the device was likely to create a fatal damage to those controlled brains, it was a comfort to see that the teenager didn’t just destroy the device simply without any consideration.

He put down the batarang he had been ready to use to stop the boy from doing anything rash. Perhaps this Roy Harper wasn’t as reckless and as impulsive as he had thought (perhaps the other Roy wasn’t either and he had been underestimating him all along).

While the young Roy was taking time to crack the device which seemed to be prudently encrypted, Jason was left to handle the attackers all by himself.

As to be expected, the attack begun to wear him off. There’s an open on his left side while he was taking down some of the opponents.

One of the mutants surged forward and struck Jason hard in the chin.

Hands kept rushing on the computer, the teen asked once he had caught a glimpse of that, “Need any help?”

“Nope,” Jason replied in a muffled voice. Gathered up himself quickly, he returned the strike, knocking the mutant down with a flying kick.

“I got it. You do your geek work, little Red,” he said to Roy while driving off the swarm of attackers. “But just out of curiosity, is there any chance you could—you know--speedy it up?”

“One more ‘speedy’ pun and I promise you your bike will be taken apart to pieces, bird boy,” Roy returned with determination. “If I’m not being careful with this, it could toast their brains.”

“It doesn’t sound so bad at the moment,” Jason replied dryly after dodged away from a wild swing and knocked the fist off its course. The fist went into the wall and punctured a hold on it. “--For all we know, these people might just stay a mindless creatures forever. Or they might not be that innocent after all. They might be secretly evil.”

“They might be,” the boy agreed, kept working on the device while Jason continued warding off the mutated people without creating any mortal damage.

Minutes later, the command signal was terminated. The mutants ceased all of their movements and tumbled down on the floor gradually.

Seeing the dogfight was over, Jason lowered his guns.

“Nice work, tech monkey.”

The boy tossed him a smirk. “I don’t appreciate the term, but I’ll take the compliment.”

Stepped past the unconscious mutants, Jason came up to the man responsible.

As the moment the shadow of Jason cast over him, the criminal let out a faint grunt, coming back slowly from the strike he had received earlier from Roy.

“Here’s the one who’s definitely evil and not at all innocent,” standing above the man, Jason remarked in a smooth tone that was without an ounce of true sentiment.

The observation was over. He had seen enough.

A batarang was launched when Jason lifted the gun to the man’s head, hitting precisely at the gun barrel and knocking the weapon out of Jason’s palm.

Surprised by the sudden development, Arsenal whisked around immediately, while Jason did nothing but just stood regarding the batarang.

“Holy…” The boy glared at him with widened eyes once he had emerged himself. “—Batman.”

Jason let out a snort without looking around. “That sounds about right.”

“No, I mean— ** _Batman_** ,” Roy emphasized. “—As in all huge and dark and spooky, like the allegedly dead one everyone was talking about.”

As Jason was about to turn around, the owner of the institution moved. Not leaving any room for anyone to response, he reacted quickly before the criminal could do anything that might only put himself into mortal danger. Flashed past Jason, he took down the criminal in a swift motion.

Once the criminal returned unconscious, he met Jason face to face.

“Is he…” Roy started uncertainly.

“Yeah, he’s the real thing,” Jason answered the question after inspecting him for a moment.

One of Jason’s hands swayed curtly from Bruce to Roy, making a mock presenting gesture. “Arsenal, meet the Bat of all Bats,” he introduced them in a sardonic tone.

The boy acknowledged with a nod. “So when people were pronounced dead, that really doesn’t mean they’re dead these days. Duly noted,” he remarked musingly, not seemed to be entirely sure what should be made of his unexpected presence.

“Does it mean we’ll have to have another fight tonight?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

Bruce started in a plain voice, “I’m not here for a fight.” And he hoped he wouldn’t need to be engaged into one. There already had been too many fights with Jason. “--I’m here to talk.”

Roy’s eyes traveled between the two of them while Bruce and Jason were regarding each other in silence.

“Is it a private conversation?” the teen frowned. “’Cause it kind of feels like it’s going to be a private conversation.”

Bruce considered for a brief moment whether or not the boy should be involved into the conversation.

The fact that he and Jason were currently partnering had already included him into the matter. One way or the other, Arsenal was involved. His response to what Bruce was about to propose would be as conclusive as Jason’s.

There’s no reason that the young Roy couldn’t hear his proposition at first hand, but he did prefer to talk to Jason alone.

This was—in the end—a _family_ matter.

“It’s a private conversation,” he decided.

The boy didn’t seem to care much about what decision Bruce came up with though. He looked at Jason instead.

Jason started after taking a moment of thought, “Seems like I’ll have to head out and take a walk with the Bat. You mind wrap up things in here?”

“I’ll make sure everyone here is taking care of,” replied curtly, Arsenal then paused for a second, eyes taking another glance at Bruce with some remaining concern.

“You’re gonna be fine with that?” he confirmed with Jason.

“Don’t worry,” Jason reassured him. “But incase I don’t ever come out of it alive, I agree to leave you my bike. Just promise you’ll ride it like a normal person and not take it apart for kicks.”

Roy sent him a grim look, didn’t seem to appreciate the mindless humor any more than Bruce did.

“You keep trying but you’re just really not as funny as you think.”

“No, I’m hilarious,” Jason returned simply, taking up steps when Bruce started to move out. “I’ll meet you up later,” he told the boy quietly before exited the room.

Leaving the institution behind, Bruce and Jason moved from building to building, until Bruce finally stopped at a rooftop that he found suitable for talk.

For a moment, neither of them said anything but just stood above the city, regarding each other from across.

Same as the old time when they still had been working together, Jason was the one who broke the silence.

“You know, the new Batman just said to me the other day about the common we have,” he drawled, “I thought he was just being sentimental, you know how he is. But now, look at you- _-returned from the grave_ , and looking as good as ever. I guess the Bat Wonder was right, we _do_ have a lot more in common than I thought.”

There’s no expression to be seen since his face was concealed thoroughly by the helmet. But Bruce could still easily hear the grin in his voice, all broad and superficial (--The grin on his young face, when he had put on the costume for the first time, when he had set foot onto the field for the first time, it wasn’t superficial, wasn’t a sign of aggression but a display of pure excitement. For years, he had asked himself, _what had happened between here and then? How did he fail?_ ).

Jason was saying, “I knew you weren’t really croaked. I mean, please, if _I_ could claw my way out of a _coffin_ , sure you can come back from wherever great beyond Darkseid has blasted you into during your war.”

There’re seconds of space left for him to chime in. Seeing Bruce didn’t start a word but remained in silence, Jason took up the space himself and continued nonchalantly, “How was your trip back anyway. You wanna talk about it? Exchanging some thoughts on life and death? Doing some philosophic discussion with a fellow risen? I assume it’s our shared experience you want to talk to me about. Unless you actually want to talk to me about my missing appointment to Blackgate, but you said you’re not here for a fight, and that just feels like the sort of topic that could only lead us into one big fight.”

What Jason was attempting was obvious. Since the situation was still unclear to him, he was intended to gain control of things by dominating the conversation, trying to provoke Bruce into saying or doing something revealing then used it to his advantage (Dick was also an expert on doing such trick. He had been performing it at work long before he had actually come to understand the psychology of it. Bruce could easily do the same trick himself if need be, but those two were a natural).

Unfortunate for Jason, the unceasing sarcasm had nothing on him. And if the words and the insolent attitude ever bothered him in the slightest, it would be all buried under his cowl.

“I’m here to give you an offer,” Bruce simply stated.

As always, his voice was low and showing no sign of emotion. “I’m planning to build up a new team, something that can help me reach out to different places at once. I’ve already recruited several people to be my operators. I want you to be a part of it.”

It had been over two years by now, since the war against Darkseid had taken him away from this present world and led to the assumption of the others that he was dead. And while he had been away, he had caught a glimpse of the big picture.

In spite of the fact that he had the League and all the others by his side, essentially, he had remained alone. But after what he had seen, after what he had learnt from the recent experience, he had come to a conclusion that things needed to be changed.

What might come in the future could be too big for him to carry alone. For decades, he had been taking up the burden of Batman all by himself, maybe it’s finally the time that he shared the burden (It had been decades since he had vowed to dedicate all of his life to the war, dedicated _**all of himself**_ to the role, to the mission. Maybe it’s time he should finally leave himself some room and try to remember—to _learn_ \-- _ **who**_ he was besides a crusader).

Jason went quiet for a couple of seconds.

“You’re here to offer me a job,” he confirmed with Bruce slowly, a hint of suspicious rose to his voice.

Bruce told him, “I need someone who has seen both sides, who isn’t… _restricted_ by the law, and capable of handling things with unorthodox measure when need be. You have connections to the underworld, your influence on criminals could help accomplish that most couldn’t. You’ll be a valuable asset to the team.”

“So you’re basically asking me to be your janitor.” It sounded like Jason was mildly amused. “But haven’t you thought my way of taking out garbage is a bit rough for you to accept?”

“You join my team, and there will be no killing,” Bruce spoke clearly. “In return, all of your past criminal records will be erased. I’m offering you a chance, a clean slate.”

There’s a long moment of silence.

“Do you suppose I’ll just happily jump right into it once you _grant_ me a _chance_?” when Jason started again, his voice turned different. Sharper and colder.

“What are you expecting me to say?” he questioned. “‘-- ** _Yes, dad, I would like to be welcomed home_** ’, is that it? You think I’m going to throw away everything—forget about everything--and come back to you just because you’ll have me back to _your side_? As though everything I’ve done, every single criminal I killed, it was just me being upset at you, and all along, I was just _throwing a tantrum_.”

He let out a small, frigid snort. “It might come as a surprise to you, but there’s actually a reason that I would choose to do things in my way instead of yours.”

It wasn’t any surprise at all.

It hadn’t even actually come as a surprise to Bruce all those years ago when he had found his young ward standing alone on the balcony where a criminal had just fallen off of.

To these days, what exactly had happened between Jason and Felipe Garzonasa still remained a mystery. “-- _I spooked him,_ ” was all the boy had said when he had enquired. Although the truth of that night was unknown, what he had witnessed on that young face, what he had seen developed in Jason, it was all clear. And he should’ve seen it coming. The shadow in his eyes. The growing darkness. It wasn’t surprising, because he should’ve known.

He had known it all along that there’s darkness in Jason. Every time the boy had struck too hard, too furious, it had showed Bruce just how much anger he had.

He had thought he could’ve suppressed it, could get it under control and channel the rage of Jason's into something positive the same way he had channeled the pain of his own.

But the boy wasn’t him.

He hadn’t even come to encounter the act of violence until that _fateful night_ ; hadn’t encountered _crime_ , and  _murder_ , and _lost_ , and the feeling of being stripped utterly _out of power_.

To Bruce, violence was a mean to the goal; but Jason perceived things differently. The youngster was painfully familiar with violence—with the act of cruelty, of brutality--in a way Bruce never had been before he had put on the cowl.

He had thought he could stop the boy from drifting off into an unrighteous path by remaining an iron hold on him, providing him with restrain and discipline, when what the boy had truly needed was some care and a proper healing (“-- _You’re not healing,_ ” during one of their arguments many years ago, Leslie had said to him, “ _And you never will be by keeping this up._ ”).

What had happened to Felipe Garzonasa was the first sign of what might become of Jason (The first sign of his own _failure_ ).

And when Jason had come back from death, surprised wasn’t the word that could describe what Bruce had felt. To see the one he had been once responsible of—the one he had lost--had found his way across the line and adopted the sort of action he was so against of, it was a nightmare coming to life.

The reaction Jason was having to his offer wasn’t unanticipated. He never imagined it would be easy. The seed was long since rooted. There’s nothing he could say or do to rip the idea of blood for blood out of Jason’s head. There’s no convincing him if he just simply didn’t see the flaw in his way.

There’s no reasoning with him, _if_ he was still the same person he had been when he had intended to kill the Joker before Bruce’s eyes.

“I don’t imagine you’ve been doing the things you do out of reason,” slowly, he started. “You might have your reason to resort to killing, and it might be a strong reason to you. But the thing about drawing blood, it’s that one day, there’ll just simply be too much blood. And when it drowns away everything, the blood will be all you have.”

“It’s not like I have much to begin with,” Jason replied offhandedly, revealing nothing in his voice.

The statement stung him a little.

“What about your partner,” he returned in an even tone after doing some calculation. “How long do you suppose Arsenal will be drowned.”

“What does he have to do with this.”

“He’s your partner now, isn’t he?”

“So?” Jason shrugged. “He’s a big boy. He knows how to swim.”

He sounded convincing, but the tension on his shoulders spoke otherwise.

What Bruce was saying disturbed him.

That’s good.

“Not a lot of people can swim through the blood and survive, and those who did never remain the same.”

“What are you saying?” Jason retorted in a cold voice, “That I should send him back to the Arrows before I drown him?”

“I’m saying as long as you want to keep up your association with the boy, you’ll need to be careful, of everything you do, every decision you make,” Bruce told him, “Arsenal might have years of experience, but he’s still young, which means he could be easily affected by all that around him. Since you’re the elder in your relationship, it’s up to you to take up the responsibility and keep an eye on the boy, prevent him from being lost. And you could only do that if you don’t lose yourself in your revenge.”

He stopped and regarded Jason for a moment.

“If you join my team, there’ll be rules. You might not like those rules, but they are essential. They help set up the boundary, so no one would be lost.”

“So ‘no killing’, huh?”

“That’s the ground rule,” Bruce replied.

Though the helmet was keeping every visible evidence away, the subtle changes in Jason’s voice didn’t escape him.

The young man was vacillating, which meant his bet was good and his approach was working.

It took a certain level of commitment—a certain level of _conviction_ —to dedicate oneself into revenge. And right now, Jason’s conviction was weakened. Whatever that had happened to Jason these days had changed him, shaken his resolve.

As far as Bruce could see, he wasn’t entirely as unrestrained as he used to be.

There’s no holding back someone if they had nothing to lose, if they had no string, no tie to the world; but whether Jason recognized it or not, he did have something to lose. For one, he had his attachment to the boy, and it was currently holding him back (Attachment could be dangerous. It could be a burden. But sometimes…sometimes if could be all that important. It could be all that it needed to save someone from straying off too far into no return).

Bruce spoke up in a clear voice, “You might think your way is better than mine, but it comes at a grand cost. Every doing comes at its cost. So before you make up your decision on whether or not you’ll accept my offer, ask yourself what price you could actually bear to pay. What is it you’ll be more willing to sacrifice--your blood revenge, or everything else.”

Instead of giving him a direct response, Jason asked him, “I’m sure there’re other people who can do your dirty works. Why come to me.”

The question put him into silence.

Seconds later, he lifted his hand.

The cold air touched his face once the cowl was removed. The place they were staying was secured, but the risk of exposing his face in the open was still slightly unnerving. The _nakedness_ itself was slightly unnerving.

Part of him was questioning whether or not he should take the risk; would that be too revealing, was that really necessary. He suppressed the doubts in his head and kept the cowl off.

There had been too many times he had spoken to Jason as Batman when he should’ve talked to him as a friend, a _family_. It was a mistake. And he wasn’t about to make the same mistake again.

“Since the moment I’ve taken you in, you’ve become my responsibility,” in response to Jason’s question, he said, “But in the end, you’ve been proven to be my biggest failure.”

“Wow.”

The spike that had dissolved earlier returned to Jason’s voice. “Thanks for clearing that up. I honestly don’t know could I take it if I found out I was actually your biggest success.”

Paying no regard to the acid remark, Bruce continued, “It was my duty to do what’s best for you. But instead, I’ve only done you what I know best. I gave you trainings, teaching you how to be a master of violence when I should just help you heal from the pain it has brought you in the past. I promised you a better life and I failed. The life I gave you is full of war, and when it started to consume you, I failed to help you out. And I… _failed_ , to save you from the hand of death.”

It was never easy for him to recall and to think of that certain matter, let alone expressing it with word. But it was important, if he would finally make the effort he had failed to make at many years ago and at that frightful night when he had been pushed to make a choice. So now, he tried his best.

He looked at Jason deeply.

“I can’t erase the past, Jason. But I can make amends,” he said in his nature voice, “I’m not giving you the offer just because I think you could use a second chance. I’m giving you the offer because I think we **_both_ ** can use a second chance. And as much as I wish I can do more, all I can do for you here is offering. It is up to you to decide whether or not you would take the chance…to better things up.”

Jason didn’t say anything for a long moment.

“I’ll need time to think about it,” eventually, he replied.

And for now, that was the best answer he could hope for.

Bruce gave him a smile.

“I suppose you will,” he said, while putting back the cowl. “--Take as much time as you need. The offer is extended to Arsenal too, so discuss it with him if you’ll like. But just remember, whatever you do, I’m watching.”

 

 

 

 


	25. Chapter 25

The response remained flat, solid with reasons and an absolute authority; and it was doing completely nothing to help smooth down the tension.

“You _cannot_ do that,” the kid gritted out. “That is a **_mistake_**.”

He reached out to the kid’s shoulder, attempting to pull him back; but the kid flicked off his hand roughly, taking another stride toward the man he was facing upon.

“That’s enough,” the man cut him off. “--I’ve already made up my decision.” The word was spoken, and that’s the end of discussion.

Seeing the old man didn’t even break one drop of sweat under his furious glare, the kid spun around a few seconds later and stormed out of the room.

It would appear it turned out exactly how Dick's afraid it would’ve turned out.

He had known things wouldn’t have ended well the moment Damian had burst in to the living room, looking as cross as a bear.

The kid was all worked up by the list of operators he had discovered in the secret file Bruce had kept hidden in the Cave’s computer. Finding some of the names on the list highly questionable, the kid had demanded for an answer. In return to his inquiry, Bruce had started, “What are you doing digging through my files.” So, yeah, Dick could _really_ see how it wouldn’t have ended with hugs and kisses.

He sighed internally.

“Good job, B. You've really lightened up his mood.”

Eyes Turning away from where Damian had set off to, he gave Bruce a dry look.

The man was sitting on an armchair in his loungewear, and his naked face was looking as about as accessible as the Fort Knox. It never ceased to amaze that how Bruce sometimes just didn’t even need the mask to look like he was anything but a sentient being.

“He came asking for an explanation, so I explained,” the man replied. “He doesn’t need to like it, but he does need to respect my decision and accept that is how things are going to be now.”

“And you need to remember you’re dealing with a twelve-year-old here.”

Bruce met his eyes equally. “You know as well as I do that he’s more than _just_ a twelve-year-old.”

It might be true, but still.

“I can’t just cuddle him.”

In more than one way, Dick guessed he just really couldn’t (Damian would totally hate to be cuddled anyway. Or at least that’s how he would make it seem like).

“I’m not saying you should do that,” after regarding the man for a moment, he said, “I’m only saying it wouldn’t hurt if you can at least try to _communicate_ with him.”

“You think that’s not what I’ve been doing?”

The look he gave Bruce turned a bit sympathetic.

“I’m sure you’re trying,” or at the very least, he must’ve had _some_ intention to. Too bad it just didn’t seem to come as natural to him as being Batman. “--I’m just not so sure if you understand the difference between being like a dad and being like a superior.”

There’re a few seconds of silence, then the man asked in a quiet tone, “Do you ever think of me as your superior?”

“You know you’re breaking my heart just by asking that.” He tossed Bruce a sour look. It was actually kind of sad (--or so horribly sad) that Bruce was just the type of person who would really feel like there might be doubts about that.

“You’ve never been anything but a family to me,” he told the man simply. He might not always come to agreement with Bruce, but a family was what they always were. A highly dysfunctional one, truth be told; but a family nevertheless.

“Just show Damian what you’ve showed me, only do it better,” he strongly advised. “You’re right, he isn’t _just_ any twelve-year-old. He’s your son. And you’re his father. That’s why he keeps calling you ‘ _father_ ’, you know.”

It would appear that Bruce was still struggling to let that curtain piece of fact sink in to his head, and it’s not like Dick couldn’t understand his struggle.

Despite how many children he had taken under his wings, the man had never actually _needed_ to be a _dad_ before. Neither Dick nor Tim had ever especially needed the man to be a dad for them; they had already had their own parents, and their memories of them would forever be cherished. No matter how much Bruce was _like_ a father to them, he could never replace the ones who had given them lives, and more importantly, love (and even though Jason might not have many loving memories for his own parents, Dick guessed he’s probably just way too proud and way too self-dependent to be desperate for a new dad).

To Dick, Bruce might be a _father figure_ , but he wasn’t **_father_**. He’s just a family, one that wasn’t by blood but mattered as much as those that were; one that was by choice and by heart.

But to Damian, "father" was all he reckoned.

Things had been a struggle between the kid and Bruce ever since the beginning, and in spite of how far the kid had come since his first appearance, right now, the two were still struggling with their ways to each other, and things wouldn’t stop being a struggle until they finally figured things out.

Dick wished he could say it would happen soon, but not even he could be _that_ optimistic. It was going to take some long, hard time before these two could actually stumble into any sort of good place.

“I wouldn’t say you’ve done anything _wrong_ , Bruce. I know it’s important for you to set up rules and boundaries, and I think it’s actually good that you’ve recruited _them_ to be a part of the new team,” Dick said. “—but the next time, when your kid is upset and comes questioning you about something? Try to think about _who_ you are to him before decide whether or not you should bring out the _deep voice_. It might do wonder to your relationship.”

The man replied with nothing, just sat regarding his own hands in thought. There weren’t much on the man’s face but some shadows of struggle.

Leaving Bruce to his own conflicts, Dick stepped out the living room and went to look for the kid.

 

***

 

Seeing “the meatman” was getting away, the kid extracted himself from the part of the thugs he had been engaging, knocking down everyone who was blocking his way and rushing after the guy immediately.

Knowing the kid could handle it, he didn’t go looking for his partner and the scum until he took down every thug he was left to deal with.

When he found Roy and the meatman a couple of minutes later, the two of them had gotten into a room where apparently was all the butchering happened.

The kid had the organs dealer nailed on the ground, and he was beating the living craps out of that scum.

The smell in this room was appalling. There’re some nutrient tanks lining up against the dirty wall, where all the nameless victims who still had something left inside their bodies to sell were kept alive before they were ripped off clean. The operating table was set on the other side of the room; an instrument cart close to its side, a male body—which Jason assumed was mainly where the horrible smell came from--was left lying naked on the table, with his chest sawed open and his dried blood all over the operating area.

If Jason hadn’t been through so many deaths before, a scene like this certainly would’ve made him lose his lunch. He couldn’t see the look on his partner’s face from this angle, but he could easily imagine how sick Roy must be feeling right now.

It was one thing to know what had been going on in this butcher house, but to see it personally? To see all these people who had been abducted from the streets have gotten stored up like they were no better than some livestock? To see how they would be left rotting like a piece of waste when they had nothing to be taken away anymore? That’s going to mess up someone’s mind.

Eyes turning away from the dead body, he walked up to Roy soundlessly. The redhead didn’t seem to notice his presence, just kept pounding his metal fist into the criminal’s face again and again and again and again.

The scum was out cold; there’s no sound in this room except the repeating noises of a metal smashing the flesh. The rhythm of it was somehow captivating. For a moment, he stood behind Roy, and getting lost inside that dull, heavy rhythm just like how Roy appeared to be.

The criminal was barely breathing, and he wouldn’t be breathing much longer if the kid didn’t stop in a minute or two.

He wondered would Roy stop before the criminal ceased to breath. He wondered what would change if he didn’t.

It’s not the first time Roy killed a criminal, but if he killed the meatman right here, it would really be his own choice for the first time (Although it was rather admirable that the redhead would want to take responsibility for the matter, Jason still highly doubted that the kills in Gotham were ever on him. The only reason he didn’t keep arguing with Roy about that was only because the redhead was way too stubborn to argue with).

The kid might have been able to see his point of view and understood why it was important if someone would just kill off the scums, but Jason had already known clearly that even though he _could_ , Roy was still just too good-hearted to be a killer.

Or maybe, it was never about how good he was or was not.

Maybe it was only the matter of a _correct moment_. Maybe all along, he just still hadn’t reached the breaking point yet.

There’s a reason that Roy _shouldn’t_ be a killer, but right now, being in the butcher house and watched this, Jason suddenly couldn’t recall what that reason was.

Seeing how the criminal’s face was getting wrecked by the brutal strikes, Jason couldn’t help but wondered if the only mistake about the whole Spencer business was actually just the _wrong timing_. He wondered if _this_ was the moment when Roy was truly inspired; if this was the moment when he finally had had enough of the atrocities, when he came to see how they needed to be _ended_ and he wanted nothing more but to end them and **_all else could be damned_**.

Standing close to the redhead, Jason felt like he could sense the invisible flames slipping out his young body, his young heart. He could practically taste the fury with his own mouth, and it was _intoxicating_.

He should just leave him be. A voice rose above the thudding noises, speaking to Jason seductively.

 _Just stand back and watch. And you won’t need to be the one who pushes him this time. All you need to do is nothing,_ the voice was telling him.

 _He might not see your differences now, but someday sometime_ , _he will come to his senses, and he will see what you're really made of. But not after this. Not after he had the taste of that beautiful **satisfaction**. Not after he had come to see for himself that how **free** he could be--how much more he could achieve--without all the rules and codes and_ _moral values pulling his hands._

If the kid pounced the life out of the criminal here, it would be his decision and his decision alone. And hadn’t Jason already agreed that he wouldn’t do anything to take the decision out Roy’s hands again?

So what if he leave him be. So what if he did nothing.

The kid might reel himself back eventually, or he might not. Jason wondered if he didn’t, what would leave in his heart when that moment of satisfaction faded (--Guilt? Regret? Something hollow? Something dark? Or just simply nothing).

He wondered how many more kills Roy would have to enact before the murder was stuck in his eyes.

He wondered how long it would have to take for the murder to drown him (“-- _Not a lot of people can swim through the blood and survive._ ”); or if the redhead would finally be okay with this and just grow into something more like _him_ instead.

Reached out one hand, he took a grip on his partner’s arm, stopping Roy from striking the meatman any further.

Though he wasn’t sure what Roy might’ve done if he didn’t stop him, he knew for certain that the redhead deserved better than being someone like him (Being him was no fun. And if he wanted to be with someone like him, he might as well just stick with himself).

Instantly, the kid went into stillness. There’s no struggle against his palm, all Jason could feel was how hard the cybernetic arm was.

Keeping his hold on Roy’s arm, he raised his other hand, took a shot at the criminal’s head to finish him off (“ _I’m watching,_ ” Bruce had said over a week ago when he had come to give him an offer. Seeing no one had thrown a batarang at him before he could pull the trigger, it would appear Bruce didn’t mean it literally. And even if he did, Jason was not going to let himself be terrorized by a giant bat).

The bullet went straight through the criminal’s skull. Roy turned his face aside promptly the moment the blood splashed.

The other hand of his that was all flesh and blood still had its grasp on the criminal, yanking up the man by the chest of his clothes.

Seconds later, his grip upon the criminal loosened. The body hit the ground in a dull thud when it was finally let go.

The kid sat on his heels with his head lowered.

Unable to see the look on his face, Jason was pondering if Roy was angry. If he was mad because Jason had yet again failed to stand back. Even though he should have. Even though he should’ve not interfered and let Roy make his own choice. Even though it might turn out to be a choice that he would’ve had a hard time to live with.

When the redhead looked up eventually, his eyes carried no anger. His face was stained by all the blood he had spilled himself, and he looked like he was the one who had gotten beat up badly.

Before Jason could say anything, the kid spoke in a murmur, “Let’s…get out of here.”

Using the hand Jason had on his arm, he dragged himself up slowly from the floor.

Together, they left the organs shop and let the police handle the rest.

Awhile later, when they reached home, Roy went right into the bathroom without a word.

Waited till the kid had finished washing off the blood, Jason took a shower himself. The hot water was hitting him hard, and he could feel his muscles unclenched under its heat.

They had been staying at LA for months since they had decided to get back together. The last hideout Jason had resided was only temporary, and it was in the middle of nowhere which wasn’t exactly ideal for them to set up shop.

The kid had wanted to stay at somewhere warm and sunny, and Jason would just be fine with any place that was big and advanced enough it was bounded to be crimes (This city might not have as many crimes as Gotham, but then again, Jason doubted there’s any city that could be as infested with crimes as Gotham. There really was no place like Gotham. That place was an anomaly).

Since the rental apartment Roy had had in LA before was way too small for the two of them, they had moved into a warehouse instead. Though the place was far from being in a perfect condition, it was comfortable enough, and quite frankly, any place with hot water would be good enough for Jason.

He stayed under the shower for a long time. When he came out of the bathroom, the redhead was slumping on the couch with his eyes staring off at the TV screen that was all dark and showing him nothing.

Edged toward the couch, he sat down next to Roy.

“You’re okay?”

The kid let out a faint hum. He regarded Roy for a moment.

“You want anything?” he offered.

The kid shrugged. “A drink would be nice,” he said. “But that’s not going to make anything better, is it.”

“No.”

Reaching out to the table in front of him, he picked up a pack of smoke and lit one up. Seeing Roy didn’t seem to be in a talkative mood, Jason sat with him in silence, taking the smoke while pondering mildly that how much Roy must have wanted right now to just go out and have one drink (and then another one, and another, and another).

A minute after he finished the smoke, he reached out for another one. As he was about to flick open the cigarette pack again, he suddenly felt kind of bad, that the redhead was sitting here instead of ran off to a pub while he was still indulging himself with any poison he wanted.

Leaving the pack on the table, he drew back to the couch. The yearning wasn’t particularly strong, wasn’t anything overwhelming to him. But it was stirring in the back of his throat, and he felt kind of empty now he had nothing to do with his mouth.

Eyes drifting to Roy’s face, he could see there’s also some emptiness in it.

Wanting to fill up that emptiness, his hand moved up and touched Roy on his chin, pulling the redhead slowly from his own thoughts to him.

It gave him an odd sense of triumph when he felt the distant tension on Roy’s body fading under the kiss.

The kiss was shallow at first, but then Jason deepened it because it felt good.

Minutes later, he drew away.

The look on Roy’s face seemed better than it had been since he had gotten into the butcher room. It somehow reminded Jason the feeling he had had the first time he had accomplished a mission and saved some lives (--The feeling of having the incredible power to help making things better. To achieve something _good_. How long it had been since he had feeling like that? He couldn’t even remember).

“I won’t stop you if you want to go out and have a drink,” Jason said, while reaching out for the TV remote. “--But if you don’t, we can just stay home and watch some movies together.”

“I don’t need drinks,” Roy uttered after some thoughts. “I’ve got you.”

He didn’t know what he was supposed to say to that, so he said nothing, just looked at Roy for a moment longer then started picking up some movie.

The kid shuffled closer to him once he had pulled up a comedy and settled back into the couch.

“I’m sorry.” The voice was barely a whisper. Having no idea where this was coming from, Jason glanced at Roy with question. “—that you have to do it.”

His gaze shifted from the TV to Jason, capturing his reflection with his clear eyes.

It seemed there’re plenty of meanings in Roy’s word, plenty more than just about the killing earlier tonight; more than just the kid was feeling sorry for the fact that Jason had to be the one who finished off the organs dealer because it just wouldn’t matter as much to him as it would to Roy.

He didn’t know what he should say to that either, so again, he said nothing. Putting an arm around the redhead, he kept Roy close to his side.

Hours later, when Roy had drifted into sleep, he detached himself from the kid and left the warehouse quietly.

Before heading out of the house, he thought about leaving a note to Roy. But he had no idea what he should write on the note because he had no idea where he might be heading, so he decided to leave it.

Taking his bike out of the garage, he drove away, didn’t make one stop until he hit the exit point of the city.

Pulled over at the side of the road, he sat alone on his bike and thought about the offer he had been thinking a lot lately.

It had been over a week since Bruce had approached him with the offer, and he still hadn’t given the man a response.

Part of him wanted to just ignore it, or tell the man to shove it.

Bruce might’ve come to him in peace, might’ve seemed he did want to make amends by proposing some sort of peace treaty and made it sound like it was all a fair deal. But it wasn’t a fair deal. What Bruce was offering wasn’t on the basis of equality, because he would only _allow_ Jason to be back to his clan if Jason would play on _his_ terms.

The man was expecting him to give up his vengeance, his own principles, his own conviction, like they were worth nothing. He was expecting Jason to _compromise_ when he himself would never do the same.

The answer to the said "offer" should be simple. But somehow, he was still struggling about it.

“--I can imagine limitless resources, access to all the top-of-the-world technologies, and the other costumes probably won’t be so eager to stand in our way if they know we’re actually working for Batman. But on the other hand, we’ll be working for Batman, which, according to you, is no fun,” the kid had pointed out after hearing the proposition.

“So?”

“So, it’s up to you, I guess,” the kid had shrugged. “I’m fine either way.”

It wasn’t remotely helpful. But he guessed Roy really would be just fine either way.

Despite how much Jason would like to just forget about the whole deal, there’re something Bruce had said just stuck in his head.

He hated to admit it, but Bruce was right.

What he did, it came at a cost. It came with the consequences, and it would be totally fine, if he was the only one who would have to live with those.

He wondered what exactly the man had seen had led him into the conclusion that it would be a good idea to use his partnership with Roy as some sort of leverage. How long he had been spying on them to reckon it might work.

Things with Roy had been good these days, to a point that Jason actually felt like he was building up something. Some sort of life.

But how long it would have to take until it wasn’t? Until all the unceasing bloodshed just really turned out to be too much?

The kid had left the decision to him, trusting whatever decision he made would be the right one.

The weight of that trust was heavy. He could feel it pulling at him at a constant; like an anchor, like the shackles. And right now, as he was being alone on the road, an immediate urge waved over him and he just wanted to shake off that weight. Just set himself _free_. From all attachments. From all things that he might be still holding onto because he was having trouble to let go once and for all.

He wanted to just drive off into a road where he could get back being his own man. Where he could be alone with his vengeance, his hatred, and be without doubts. Where he could keep raining down the hard punishment upon those deserved it and knowing for certain that the bloodshed would only be reflected on him and him alone (He felt like he was too good at it for him to be drowned, but even if he _did_ drown, at least no one would be drowning along with him).

There’s a good chance Bruce would just leave him be if that’s what he chose to do.

As long as Jason stayed away from his city and kept a low enough profile, the old man probably would just turn a blind eye to him. Just go back pretending he was dead all along as he had done before.

If he took off, Roy was going to hate him for a while. But eventually, the kid would get over it.

Roy would move on, just as the world would move on; while Jason would return to the same place he had been dwelling for years (A place that was outside the grave and apart from the realm of the living).

The kid was doing great with his recovery. Despite how there’re times like tonight he would be simply hollowed out and he would have _that look_ in his eyes, he had never allowed himself one drink, not even a can of beer he had taken these months (“ _\--I’ve got you,_ ” he had said, like Jason should be given the credit. The word was so painfully sweet, it had made his chest wrung. It sounded like he had been helping Roy, but it was Roy who was helping himself. Jason had never done anything more than just simply being there).

There’s no doubt that the kid wouldn’t be fine without him. Roy might not see it this way, might’ve needed some help now and then, but deep down, he really was a strong kid.

“ _It’s okay that I’m just not the greatest person in the world,_ ” the redhead had said, “ _I can be better. Or at least I could try to be._ ”

Roy had accepted who himself was, and he was trying his best to better himself. Only because he needed to. Because if he didn’t, he would just keep being stuck.

Somehow, being with Roy, he felt like he could remain himself yet being somewhat different. Somewhat better. It felt like he and Roy were indeed heading toward the same place, but it was merely a delusion.

Roy was heading forward, which wasn’t somewhere Jason could say if he would be going.

 _The same old path is where you’ll be going._ A voice arose from the night.

 _It’s where you **need** to go_. _You might not want to cut loose now when you feel like you’re actually **having something**. But you know you need to keep walking down that road and you need to make the sacrifice. If you can’t bring him along, then you need to let go. You need to let go and get back on track, because at the end of the day, it isn’t just about **you**. It isn’t just about some kid lashing out because the world hurts him badly and it makes him **mad**. It is far more **greater** than that._

 _It isn’t about you._ The voice grasped him tight. _It’s about doing what should’ve been **done**. It’s about the **justice**. It’s about **ending the war**_.

The voice he was hearing was strong, and he couldn’t tell if it was the voice of reason or the voice of something else.

 _It’s far more **bigger** than you, _it said, and Jason listened to it.

Whatever good he and Roy might be having, it wouldn’t matter in the end, because nothing matter compared to the war _._

He wanted to just listen to himself and set off to his rightful road.

But—

 _Where does that road end?_ Before the voice could drag him away, his grip on the handlebars loosened and he questioned.

When would things be over? When would all the craps in this whole wide world be cleared out completely and he would finally be satisfied and stop taking lives and live one instead?

Staring out at the shadowy road, Jason tried to see the future, and what he saw was as blurry as the line between good and bad.

For the first time since he had returned from death, he looked into the future, and he found himself lost at the unclear sight of it (“ _You might not like those rules, but they are essential,_ ” Bruce had said to him clearly, “ _They help set up the boundary, so no one would be **lost**._ ”).

The war might be bigger than him, but what kind of madman would spend his whole life taking up a war that was even bigger than himself? Jason wondered.

And he also wondered was he a madman, or was he just a man after all (Once they had finished moving their stuffs into the warehouse, he had stood regarding the place. It wasn’t the first time he and the redhead shared a place together, but this time, it wasn’t just something he did on a whim, wasn’t just something he did carelessly on an impulse. It wasn’t just him sharing some space with someone who might have turned out to be an aid to him. The place had been undecorated at the moment, looking all simple and crude. And suddenly, he had been struck by the significance of that crude, simple warehouse. It had hit him that just how much of a **_madness_** it was, that he was actually going to _live_ there with a _partner_. “--Hey, big guy.” Standing among the cartons, Roy had called out to him impatiently, “Are you going to just stand there and look pretty, or are you going to help me unpack.” He had turned his gaze on Roy, who had just seemed way too fine to be an incarnation of madness. “So you think I’m pretty?” returned mindlessly, Jason had left out the misgivings and walked toward his partner).

It felt like he had been stagnating at the side of the road for a long, long time; eventually, he started the engine and drove through the exit point of LA.

It’s going to be a long way to Gotham. Jason hoped he could be home soon before the sun rose.

 

***

 

“How could he do this,” he burst out before Dick could even open his mouth.

“Well…”

“That maniac has dishonored our family. He’s _humiliated_ us. He’s tried to **_kill_** us.”

“To be fair, you’ve tried to kill us too.”

Damian shot him a dark look. “Don’t tell me you’re fine with that.”

“I’m good with that, actually,” he said with a shrug.

It was a good thing that Bruce would’ve reached out to Jason. Since he hadn’t been there that night when Jason had revealed himself to Bruce as Red Hood for the first time, he didn’t know how everything had gone down exactly. Bruce had never talked about it, but Dick knew for a fact that the man had taken it hard.

The death of Jason had devastated the man years ago; it had left him a wound that he could barely come back from. Dick could only imagine how the confrontation he and Jason had had that night had torn open that old wound and brought up a pain so great that Bruce could only deal with it by drawing back to himself. By denying Jason’s return, if only because it would be far more easier for him to do that than to accept the fact that the family he had lost had taken to the one thing in this world he could never be able to stand.

Considered how it had taken Bruce a long time to finally accept the fact, Dick would say that him reaching out to Jason was actually a huge step of progress.

It’s good that the man had done that, and it was even better that Red Hood and Arsenal apparently had accepted the offer.

Recalled the many times Jason had declined an extended hand, it would seem to Dick that perhaps Bruce wasn’t the only one who was making progress.

He said to Damian evenly, “Having Jason on our side is way better than having him against us anyway. Or did you forget what happened when he’s playing opposite us?”

“I remember clearly, which is exactly why Red Hood and his obnoxious sidekick should never be allowed to join the team.”

“I don’t think Arsenal is ever his sidekick,” Dick pointed out matter-of-factly. Though Jason was physically older by a few years, but Roy had started out at a really young age. The kid had gotten into this business as long as Jason, maybe even longer; he might’ve looked up to Jason to some degree, but Dick doubted that Jason could have any authority over him.

He gave Damian a curious look. “What do you have against the kid anyway? You’ve only met him once. It’s not like he’s tried to kill us that one time.”

“He’s obnoxious. How many more reason do you need.”

Dick scratched the back of his head in some confusion.

The kid appeared to be genuinely vexed. He knew Damian didn’t like the fact that Bruce had recruited Red Hood and Arsenal to be one of his contracted agents, and considered how all of them had been fighting every time they met, he could see why Damian might not be happy about having the two of them on their side.

But there’s something more he sensed. Something more than just a personal dislike.

After regarding Damian for a moment, he asked calmly, “What _’_ s the _real_ problem?”

“The problem is, father is wrong,” without a second of thoughts, the kid snipped. “--Not _everyone_ deserves a chance.”

“We took our chances with you. That didn’t turn out to be anything wrong.”

“It’s different. I’ve earned it. What has Red Hood ever done to earn his place among us.”

“He _is_ family from the start,” Dick told him in an even tone. “And he can earn it. He can prove himself to us now he has the chance.”

He paused for a second before tossed Damian a look. “--It’s a paradox, you know. You can’t say if someone deserves a chance when you don’t ever take one on them.”

The kid bit on his teeth. His head was bore down slightly by whatever thoughts that were weighting on him, young face blanketed by some shadows.

“So every wrong he’s done, they all could be wiped out? Just like that?” he started in a slow voice. Slow, small, and hollow.

“How could he get to have his past wiped out and be accepted so easily, like none of the things he’s done matters…when I’m still trying so hard after all these times?”

With his green eyes staring down in front of himself, he didn’t look like he was asking Dick for an answer, but merely struggling with one.

Now Dick saw the problem. He saw how small the kid seemed at this moment with his head no longer holding up high like it usually did.

The kid had come far, had tried hard to adapted himself to this new side of world that he had never seen before. None of this new life had made sense to him, because it wasn’t something he had known of; he had been taught a lot, he had far more advanced knowledge of things than most of the adults. But this? Being here with them? It was a thing Damian had never learned by being alongside his mother and his grandfather. And he had been struggling to even begin to understand the concept of it.

All these times as Batman and Robin, Dick had seen with his own eyes that how hard a work the kid had put to it to make this work.

The kid had paid dearly, had severed ties with his own mother, his own inheritance, just so he could be better, just so he could have something that--for the first time in his life—was actually _good_.

Yet, after all he had done to prove himself that he could be better than his past, he was still struggling for his father approval, his recognition, his _love_. He was still pretty much on probation right now, as though all the effort he had put in there during the past two years just didn’t change a thing, like all Bruce saw in him were still just who he had been.

Dick could understand why the kid would be distressed so.

It must have hurt, to see Bruce could find it in his heart to give Jason a second chance when it seemed like the man was still withholding one from him. Like he was still refusing him.

It must have seemed unbelievable to the kid, to see another person could have his past lifted without paying a due, while he was continuously paying for his. While all the blood he had shed just didn’t seem like it would be the sort of thing he could ever get rid of.

“No one said it would be easy.” He drew closer to Damian. “No past could be just wiped out easily. Every murder Jason’s committed, he’ll have to live with them for the rest of his life. And if he really wants this to work, he’ll have to work his way through it, just as you did.”

He put a hand on Damian’s shoulder, and happy to find that the kid didn’t shake it off.

“I’ve never regretted giving you the costume,” he told the kid sincerely. “I mean, I had my doubts at the time, but you’ve proven yourself to be worth it. I took my chance with you, Dami, and I’m proud of that.”

When Damian looked up to him, Dick saw something better than an heir of a demon. He saw someone young. He saw a kid that he’s glad to call him his family.

“Nothing can be worked out overnight,” he said.

No matter how much progress Jason and Bruce might be having on each of their parts, no matter how much they might want to fix things and make this work, Dick doubted all things could just go magically dissolved and work out smoothly.

It’s going to take time.

It’s going to take a long, bumpy road for Jason to return home; just like how it would be a long, bumpy road for Bruce and Damian to finally be able to reach each other.

“Just give it some time,” he smiled at the kid, “and who knows? Maybe one day, you’ll actually be happy having Jason and Roy around.”

“I’ll never be happy,” Damian countered in a dry voice. Dick snorted at that.

“You sound like your dad.”

 

 

 

 


	26. Epilogue

He glanced up at the TV half-heartedly when the news came in.

As the reporter went on, the accidental death of a certain arms trafficker (which, everyone knew it wasn’t an accident at all) drew his attention away from his current work.

The tools he had been using were lowered slowly onto the worktable; he fixed his gaze on the TV, listening intently to how Joe López--one of the biggest arms traffickers in Miami--had gotten into a car accident yesterday when he had been on his way to the hearing.

Once the CNN’s reporter finished and moved on to some other news, he stated thoughtfully, “The lord is _not_ going to be happy.”

“Don’t be absurd, Roy,” Jason replied. “You’re talking about Batman. The universe will have to be reset first for him to be happy.”

Letting out a noncommittal hum, the kid turned slightly to Jason, who had been leaning against the worktable Roy was sitting at while he was repairing the helmet.

The Red Hood helmet had gotten quite some hits during their fight against López and his men a few weeks ago in Miami. The inserted comms was completely messed up, and there’s a dent on the forehead area that was made by bullets. It wasn’t the first time some assholes tried to shoot Jason in his head, but for the first time, it had actually pissed him off.

He had known the first time he had put on the new helmet that it was bounded to be damaged by some fights sooner or later, but it still kind of annoyed the shit out of him when it had happened (Roy apparently had found it both equally funny and ridiculous that he would actually be upset by that. He could always just fix up the helmet easily or even make Jason another one if the current one was indeed broken, he said to Jason).

“Batman will want to have a word with us,” Roy tossed him a look.

That’s probably true. He hummed.

Bruce might be willing to turn a blind eye to it when the job was their own, but that whole thing with López was his assignment to them, and there were rules he insisted the two of them to follow.

For starter, he insisted López to be alive, and López had indeed been alive when he had been taken into custody. If only that guy would just let himself be sentenced to jail, he might even still be alive for a long time.

Jason could see how the old Bat might be displeased by the news and want to question them about that. It would be wrong for him to do that though. Since at least _one_ of them really had nothing to do with López’s death.

Roy had nothing to do with this. He didn’t even know the scum was dead until the news had come in. And truth be told, it’s not like Jason had much to do with it either.

It’s not like he had orchestrated the car accident that the criminal had been caught into. The only thing Jason had ever done was merely paid López’s adversary a visit, chatted up the man and reminded him when was the hearing and that it might be the best chance for him to do something before the court sent his rival free.

Since the star witness of the case had been found committed suicide (or at least that’s how the police report said), it was clear that the DA was going to lose the case eventually.

When he and Roy had arrived at the scene, it was a second too late. The witness was dead. And once again, when Jason had looked at the body that had been hung from the ceiling, he had seen how pointless this whole business was.

“I won’t promise you anything,” was the first thing he had said when he had reached Bruce at the Cave a few months ago.

“I’m not going to stand there and do nothing when I see there’s something I _can_ do.” The man had turned slowly to him. He had spoken clearly, “And if it’s ever them or me and Roy, it’s not going to be me and Roy.”

It had seemed that Bruce had just gotten back from patrol. The man had still had the suit on, but the cowl had been put down.

Not seemed to be at all surprised by his sudden arrival, Bruce had stood regarding Jason for a moment.

“You do it, but only when you held up to the last moment and you still couldn’t see there’s any other way,” the man started in slow. “I’m not asking you to sacrifice your own life or anyone’s life for the code. I’m not asking you to do the impossible, Jason. That’s not what I’m asking from you. All I’ve ever asked from you is to do your best.”

Standing there with Bruce’s gaze upon him, he had felt tired suddenly.

The long ride he had taken from LA to Gotham had tired him. The heaviness of the memories that had been summoned by simply being in this house had tired him. For the first time in a long time, he really didn’t feel like fighting the old man.

Passed Jason a thumb drive that had contained the assignment he apparently had been keeping for him and Roy, Bruce had said, “I’m glad you’ve decided to come.”

The look on the man’s naked face. It had somehow reminded Jason the moment when he had set foot into the manor for the first time, and Bruce had given him a small smile and said, “ _Welcome home_.”

Pushing the sudden bitterness aside, Jason had snorted faintly, “You’ve made it sound like I could either do that or cut ties with my partner. What am I supposed to do.”

“You could always just choose differently,” without menace, Bruce had pointed out.

“True,” Jason had agreed.

He could always just tell Roy to screw off and be on his old way alone, but if he had learned anything from the last time he had done that, it would be that the redhead just wouldn’t take "screw off" for an answer.

The second Jason decided to take up Bruce’s offer, he had made his sacrifice. He had agreed to do things differently because now he just wanted something different. Something that seemed way more precious to him than just some criminal’s blood.

He had agreed he would follow the ground rule and stop killing, but it didn’t mean he’s going to stand doing nothing when a scum like López was about to walk free.

Though Jason didn’t think that Batman had known everything, but he did know a lot, and it could only be easy for him to imagine that Jason must have had something to do with López’s death the second he learned the news.

It wouldn’t matter if he was technically innocent in the death of the criminal. Bruce would still find him responsible and reproach him for that (It wouldn’t be the first time the old man had problems with the way he did things anyway. And it’s definitely not going to be the last time).

Considered how it had turned out the last time Bruce had given him and Roy craps about their "unorthodox method", Jason was actually kind of looking forward to that (Despite how Jason didn’t enjoy it one bit and the déjà vu had been far too much for his liking, it was Roy who actually had been pissed off by the accusation. “—Hey, back off, _jackass_ ,” he had broken Bruce off with indignation, and started giving the man a backtalk. It had been the best part of Jason’s day).

“If he shows up and has a talk with us, you can always just tell him to back the hell off,” Jason said in reply. To which, Roy responded with an agreeable hum.

As the redhead got back to work, Jason stood by his side and pondering for a moment.

“You’re good with that?” he asked.

It was clear to him that López needed to be dealt with, but he had never talked about it with Roy before he had gone out and done some deals. Roy might not know what exactly he had done, but he knew for certain that Jason had done _something_. He wasn’t sure how Roy felt about that.

“I’m definitely not feeling _bad_.” The pair of green eyes rose up to him. “—So I’ll say that’s good enough for me.”

It sounded good enough to Jason.

So they might not be all that good, but they weren’t all that bad either. Things might not be perfect, but it’s not like it was ever "perfect" he and Roy were seeking for.

The way he saw it, being just a little bit better might already be perfect enough.

“Good,” he replied softly. There’s that beautiful little smile occurred onto Roy’s mouth that he just wanted to taste.

He leaned in and tasted that.

The cybernetic arm was heavy upon his neck, making it difficult for him to pull away. But he drew back eventually, tossing a look at the helmet that was still lying unfixed on the table.

“Now would you please speedy up and fix my helmet?”

 

 

 

 

 


	27. Extras

I can’t believe I finished it. I was so sure I’ll just leave it at some point. And why are there so many words. Where the heck did they even come from???

Okay, what I really want to say is, it’s been a fun ride. Jayroy has always been my OTP, but this specific version of them just seems such a good fit to me, I feel like I could just play with them forever. But I can’t. So here’re some extras I have, I want to just put them all out since I won’t be actually writing any of those (Probably).

 

* Jason, even without the bloodshed, will still be the black sheep of the family. I just really think it’ll be better for his character if he could somehow remain an anti-hero rather than just being one of the good ones.

 

* Jason and Bruce will always have their conflicts, because that’s just how the way it works. It doesn’t stop them from getting back being a family. It’s just a common father and son thing.

 

* Roy refers Bruce as ‘the Lord of Bat’, and he usually jumps up and gives Bruce a backtalk when Bruce is getting on their backs. He’s just feisty like that.

 

* Bruce loves his children. He’s just horrible at showing it.

 

* Ollie loves his children too. He’s just horrible at taking care of them.

 

* Later on, Roy is going to reconcile with Ollie. Ollie will be the one who reaches out, because he only sucks at parenting, he doesn’t suck as a person. And it probably will get way more emotional than the Jason & Bruce’s one. Despite his own faults, at least Ollie isn’t afraid to show his feelings.

 

* Roy and Damian are going to become frienimies, because they’re totally frienimy materials. Jason wouldn’t be Damian’s frienimy, he’s just going to turn out to be another brother that Damian found insufferable.

 

* Dick usually just refers Roy as "Arsenal" in a way to distinguish him from Red Arrow!Roy. Until they've gotten more friendly with each other, then he calls Roy "Little A".  He doesn't call Roy "Little Red" like Jason does because it's sounds like it's their own thing and he's too decent to want to step on anyone's toes. 

 

* Roy didn't remove the tracker Jason has in his arm. Despite how totally rude and invasive it is, he actually finds it kind of comforting to know there's someone out there who would always be able to find him. And he could always just block out the signal if he really want to hide his track anyway.

 

* I can imagine somewhere along the line, Helena, Dick, Damian and the two of them will be brought together by some mission. There will be disagreement between these people. Helena will be on the same side with Jason and Roy on how they should handle the mission. Damian totally agrees with them, but he will stick by Dick’s side because he won’t turn against Dick.

 

* I can always see Pre52 Helena being their friends. She’s definitely their kinds of people. And I find it totally amusing to see her telling them that she actually had sex with a Roy Harper before.

 

* Jason and Roy run into the Suicide Squad one time, and now Roy is doing fine with his life, he’s kind of happy to see that Croc has stopped preying on innocent and (kind of) serving the country. They chat during the conjoined mission, and they kind of turn out to like each other.

 

\-- Roy, before Croc leaves with the Suicide Squad: Hey, big guy.

\-- Croc, looks back.

\-- Roy: I’m glad I didn’t kill you.

\-- Jason, meanwhile, saying something cold and brutally cutting about Harley’s relationship with Mr. J after Harley has been trying to get a rise out of him the entire time.

 

* At some point, Alfred reckoned it’s time to hold a family reunion. Bruce agrees and gets Dick to send out the message.

 

\--Jason, received the text, saw who it’s from and ignores it.

\--Roy, received a text of his own awhile later, reads it.

\--Roy: Dick said he knows you’re ignoring him and he thinks it’s rude. He asked if we’ll go to the manor this weekend.

\--Jason, suspiciously: Why did he send you a message. When are you two getting so close.

\--Roy: He’s cool.

\--Jason: He’s not cool. He’s a dick.

\--Jason: and he eats redhead for breakfast.

 

* Jason and Dick are always kind of on a brotherly rivalry. Roy thinks it’s stupid, but also kind of fun to watch.

 

* When the two of them go to the family reunion. It doesn’t turn out as horrible as Jason thought. Everyone is at ease. Roy, for the first time, sees the human side of Bruce and realizes he isn’t bad after all.

 

\--Roy: You’re actually kind of nice, when you’re not being an asshole.

\--Bruce, secretly questioning about Ollie’s parenting skill (which doesn’t exist).

\--Bruce: (deadpans) Thanks.

\--Jason, walks by and sees the moment.

\--Jason: (if he’s feeling like a jackass) Get away from him, Roy, before he adopts you.

 

* Even being his YJU version, Roy is still the friendly one between the two of them. Because all Roys are a friendly people person.

 

* When they’re invited to the Harper’s house, Lian gets them to play with her. She can pretty much tell them to do anything she wants because she’s adorable. And she’s actually kind of bossy.

 

* At first, Jason just stands aside and has fun watching Roy getting all confused by some weird little games that the little girl is trying to teach him. But then Lian comes to him and tells him he should join. He tries to decline it, but she insists. 

 

* I can honestly hear him saying "...Yes, ma'am" after Lian giving him some instruction on how to play the game properly.

 

* Jason only calls Red Arrow!Roy "Red Arrow" or "Harper". He still has been calling the guy "Clone" the first time he's with the Harpers, and Lian heard that and got confused, so she looked up at him with her big eyes and asked him why he would call her daddy a "cone". While he's getting all dumbstruck and doesn't know how to response, his partner Roy kindly helps him out, "--Because he's an idiot."

 

* Red Arrow!Roy is totally cool with Jason now he’s reformed.

 

* Ollie is far less cool about Jason, because he’s a pain in his ass.

 

* Jason is always making it his mission to be the pain in Ollie’s ass. Because as someone who grew up at Crime Alley, he just doesn’t have any warm feeling toward the big rich, and he likes those people who he reckons has been a jerk to Roy even less.

 

* Ollie and Bruce each think the other’s kid is more handful. Bruce thinks Roy is too emotional, and doesn’t know how to conceal his feelings, and Ollie doesn’t think Jason is bad because he’s killed people but mostly because he’s a punk.

 

* Since they never announce themselves as a couple, people mostly just thinks they’re two really close friends who attach to the hips.

 

* Dinah takes a look at them and knows they’re more than just two really close friends.

 

* I don’t think they ever consider themselves as a couple, not until someone comes up and calls them out (Then it will be ANGST, but eventually, fluff).

 

* At this point, they just sleep together and constantly making out. They don’t have sex until Roy is older. Roy thinks they should just do it, but Jason insists that they should wait because he’s taking it serious.

 

* When the sex finally happens, I kind of hope it happens the first time they are staying overnight at the manor, so afterward, the manor will seem less like a place that is full of bitter memories to Jason.

 

* When they actually comes out as a couple:

 

\--Red Arrow!Roy thinks it makes sense, because it seems he does have a thing for dark-haired people with strong personality.

\--Dick thinks it makes sense, because he can vaguely recall hearing about how teenage Jason has hit on both of his red-haired ex-girlfriends in the past.

\--Dinah is happy for them and thinks they deserve each other.

\--Damian thinks they deserve each other too, only he doesn’t mean it in a nice way.

\--Ollie doesn’t like it. But he accepts it. Because he knows clearly if he ever tells Roy to break it off with Jason, Roy probably will just marry him the next day.

\--Bruce doesn’t see it as a bad thing.

 

* When some craps like the Duela craps has happened, I’m pretty sure Jason is going to have a relapse and getting all "I’m going straight to hell and you’re not coming with me" and wanting to take off. But since they have already been down this road before, they know their way around. They won’t be broken up by craps, they can work it out.

 

* Roy doesn’t take one more drink since he has made up the decision that he’s done with booze. Not even when things have gotten real heavy and he just really wants to have one. Because Roy Harper is a positive character, not positive because he has such a bright personality that things about him will never get dark, but because of the way he can recover himself from some dark stuff that people don’t easily come back from.

 

So, this is it.

Thanks for all of you guys who have gone through this fic with me! <33333

 

 


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